


The Thing He Hates Most

by bloodmilkku



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Bondage and Discipline, Cannibal AU, Cannibalism, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Sexual Violence, Slow Build, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1555463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodmilkku/pseuds/bloodmilkku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin was hallucinating again. It had been three years, and he thought he had gotten over this, but with the terror and trauma of the 59th Expedition only dubbed "the incident," everything came rushing back. The Corporal is his only hope - a whirlwind of anxiety, release and sex - but things have become complicated and using his body seems to be the only way out. If that was what he had to do to forget, to keep his ever-running mind from running itself into the ground, then he'd do it. He had to be useful, yearned for it, because a titan wouldn’t spare its next meal just because it was smart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're coming from my tumblr, let me tell you that this story is dark. Very dark. And even though this first chapter is similar to what's on my tumblr page, I've tweaked it a little from a different authorial point of view. I'm adding additional tags/triggers as I go, so what I have now doesn't account for future chapters.
> 
> This chapter is by far the "worst", and if it makes you uncomfortable you can just skip it entirely. There's barely any content since this all started out as smut.
> 
> That's the best warning I can give.

The floor boards creaked, soft sticking footfalls trailing along his ears; he could feel them resonate in his lungs, through his chest pressed to the hard wood. It was cold – even in his clothes – and it was dark, and his breaths came too fast, too shallow. His whole body shivered again, the cold clink of thick metal chilling his wrists, the lighter tinks of the chain that rattled against his exposed skin – his shirt had already been ripped from its place tucked deep in his pants – down his back and to his feet, was almost like music to his ears. Speaking of feet, he could feel them on pins and needles, the thick pads around his ankles not as alarming as his inability to move them; they were in a position of constant strain, because no matter which way he moved he couldn’t get his feet to come together.

Somewhere between the frantic kissing, the body that had overpowered him and brought him to his knees, and the hasty – and surprisingly effortless – removal of his maneuver gear, he had been immobilized, long heated bites on his lips and roaming hands grasping his attention and refusing to let it go. The darkness before his eyes wasn’t just from the night-time hour; the blindfold was scratchy against his skin. He was vulnerable.

“Are you _comfortable_?” The words caressed him, smooth and hot and listless next to his ear. How long had he been placed on the floor, waiting? A warm hand trailed his back, creeping over his shoulder blades and right down his spine, coming to rest between his lethargic, shackled fingers; he didn’t dare move to embrace it. “Armin,” the voice came again, a little more eager yet impatient. He could feel the warmth of the body near him, kneeling next to him, radiating. “I asked you a question.”

A spark of nerves ruptured behind his closed eyes. He wanted to move, to see and touch and claim. The intensity they had started out with hadn’t resolved, but had been buried when he found himself trapped. Now that he had lost all control, Armin couldn’t do anything but wait for that hot touch again. His mouth watered. He shifted his weight instead, trying to take a slow breath to ease his painful excitement. “Yes,” he spoke softly, his fingers lightly tracing the outline of the other man’s fingers. And then the hand disappeared, leaving a cooling splotch for his mind to ruminate over. “Sir,” he cooed, eager, voice still heavy from his latest fall into subspace, and he knew it. He wanted to feel those hands on his body again.

“No.” It was so final it hurt; his heart started to pound. There were footsteps again, trailing away from him, and Armin strained his ears to catch any sound. There was a soft clattering, another kind of chain maybe, and with a drag of what sounded like metal against wood, the footsteps made their way back to him. “Don’t move,” he was told as he listened to the stretch of denim and the airy ruffle of cotton. There was a click, and then he felt a warm hand around his neck.

At first, Armin wanted to panic, the instant response only due to his lack of sight (even though he knew there was no danger, he couldn’t quell the possibility, the faint outlines of the recent titans still swimming in his head), and he took a shaking breath as something was slipped around as well. A collar. He only knew when he heard it fasten and felt the heft of it lay against the back of his neck. But then there was a sudden yank, a threatening pull right against his windpipe, and he had to crane his neck to be able to breathe again, an involuntary whimper falling from his lips as he felt another rush of vulnerability and uselessness. “Corporal,” he half-moaned, unable to steady himself with his hands behind his back as they were, but before he could try, the collar was pulled tighter, a foot planted squarely into the small of his back, eliciting a sharp inhale and a wave of pain.

“Shut up,” was the stern command, and Armin obeyed. He curled his toes – used to pain – but the weight directly along his tailbone and through his hips was unbearable. “You asked for this Arlert.”

Armin felt a blush rushing to his face. Maybe he had, he certainly hadn’t _denied_ it. He had – only moments ago it seemed – been wrapped up in his arms, their mouths hot and wet and moving, fingers digging into skin and fabric and leather, tearing at one another as if they had been made for it. Though, he didn’t quite remember agreeing to be strapped down and treated like a dog. “No, I-“ but he couldn’t finish, the sudden sensation of falling registering in his mind before his face came in contact with the floor – the sound of heavy chain following suit – that same foot bearing down on him weightier than ever. He could taste blood, and his pulse quickened again. Was that excitement, or was that fear? But then there was movement again, a hand wrapping around the collar of his shirt and pulling his face from the floor.

“Don’t you _want_ this, cadet.”

It wasn’t even a question. Armin knew when he was being talked down to, but however angry it made him, he couldn’t quiet the storm that was his body. “I do,” struggled from his mouth, another surge of agitated glee stirring in his stomach. And he was suddenly being pulled to his feet, the sensation strange when he couldn’t find his footing, but he soon realized he didn’t need it as he was pulled back, stumbling, and discarded onto a bed. He felt the dig of buckles through his shirt, hyper aware that he was lying on his discarded maneuver gear. He heard some kind of shuffling, and then he was being touched, warm calloused hands on his cheeks.

“Arlert,” was whispered against his lips, the bed sinking around him as sharp knees settled themselves against his hips, a mouth on his own. It wasn’t as fast as before, as feverish or passionate. It was a slow smoldering in his mouth, and as he parted his lips he couldn’t contain a weak moan.

“Levi…” he whined, the word muffled by their mouths, the wet sounds of their tongues together, a coppery taste between his teeth.

But it was gone quicker than it came, pain erupting across his face instead when he registered the sound of skin on skin. “What did I say,” echoed Levi’s flat tone.

“Ah,” Armin shuddered back a cry, still reeling from the assault on his face, realizing what a hindrance being blindfolded actually was. “J-just Sir,” he stammered out, remembering now how Levi had ordered him not to use his name. He was surprised he forgot, but he was tempted to use it again just to see what would happen. Was he willing to beat him like he had Eren? Suddenly he felt hot.

Then, he felt Levi’s hand come back to his cheek – the one that wasn’t still searing – and he felt his thumb against his lips. “I let you get away with ‘Corporal,’ but you took it too far, brat.”

“Yes sir,” was his automatic reply, and it brought Levi’s lips to his again, then to his feverish cheek, down his neck. It was then that his hands found their way under his shirt, burning up trails of skin as they waltzed across him, Levi’s mouth never leaving the crook of his neck. Armin merely stifled a moan under his tongue, not wanting to sound too eager by just his touches, however true it was. He always wanted more. “Sir,” he breathed. Levi seemed to understand, as his mouth left his neck.

“What a greedy child.” He sounded disappointed, but it was impossible to tell without looking at him. Still, Armin felt Levi’s mouth against his once more before disappearing again, the roaming hands traveling up further, and he lifted his back as best he could, assuming Levi was aiming to reveal more skin. Then his mouth returned, kissing his ribs, and Armin shuddered, the sensation completely new and _exciting_. He kept his back arched, wishing he could use his hands and run his fingers through Levi’s hair, the idea itself tantalizing enough to force a soft sigh from his lips.

“Sir, please,” he begged, unable to resist shifting his hips, but only meeting open air. He groaned to himself more than anyone, clenching his fists around the leather straps beneath him, half-hoping he would be hit again for being so impatient. But either Levi didn’t notice, or didn’t care, because he continued to line his sides with kisses, his fingertips finally brushing over the sensitive skin of his nipples. “Hah,” he breathed, unable to do anything but squirm. He heard Levi chuckle, a sound he never thought would grace his ears. It was light, and _arousing_ , but he couldn’t dwell on it, as he was overcome with something else: the heat from Levi’s mouth as he met his fingers and took the flesh between his teeth.

Electric sparks skid through his body, a whimper dripping from his mouth as he writhed, craving more contact. Armin couldn’t help but imagine what that mouth would feel like lower, slowly sucking the heat from his erection, kissing his thighs, nibbling sensitive flesh. But he didn’t expect it. Levi had made it clear – even through the lustful haze that occupied most of his brain – that he was in charge, and that Armin had no say in what happened to his body. It had been too exciting at first; Levi hadn’t touched him in what felt like weeks, and the frustrations and disappointment of losing more friends to those monstrosities called titans...it was wearing on him. Armin saw the pain that Levi was trying to hide behind that stoic expression, and he said it time and time again that it wasn’t right; he was the Corporal, practically the leader of the Corps, and it would be tactical suicide if he were to let their deaths weigh him down. At least, that’s what he had _said_. Armin was just as sure Levi was looking for an outlet as much as he was willing to let his body be such. If he couldn’t make himself worthy in battle, he at least wanted to make himself worthy in bed.

He’d rather die than become a burden.

“Mmmh,” he mewled, his voice tumbling around the small room, one of Levi’s hands digging under his ribs, the other kneading the hardened nub now between his fingers, his mouth seemingly unable to stop sucking and biting. It felt so _good_ , his body consumed by wave and twinge and sharp stab of pleasure. He couldn’t clench his fists any tighter, couldn’t arch his back any higher because his muscles were screaming because they _hurt_ and were trembling from exertion. He wanted to pant, to moan and move and scream but his restraints were too tight and Levi had told him not to be loud and so he held his breath instead. But he couldn’t stop himself from letting out long breathy sighs before he held onto the silence until he couldn’t anymore.

Armin exhaled again, shaking a moan lose with it, and the hand that had been bruising his ribs vanished, the chain attached to the collar latched just lose enough around his neck rattled then pulled tight. Levi’s mouth left. “Don’t do that.”

“Hah?” he voiced, a wisp of a question.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Armin couldn’t help himself. “But-”

Levi pulled harder, lifting Armin’s head from the bed by his neck. “ _I said no_.” And then he was released, his head falling back against the sheets, and Levi’s hands where in his hair, and then with a hasty sweep the blindfold was gone. “You _listen_ to me.” Armin tried to blink back the darkness, searching for Levi’s face in the churning black, but he couldn’t find it, only feeling the hands tightening on large chunks of hair and their mouths together again. Levi however pulled away quickly, pressing their foreheads together. And when Armin could finally see him, his eyes just as cold as if they had been talking about their next mission or some such tactical dialogue, he asked “do you understand?”

What a question. Armin couldn’t help but smile, taking the initiative to capture Levi’s mouth with his own again, mumbling a “yes sir,” through his teeth.

But Levi pulled away again, letting out a breath that sounded halfway between frustrated and furious. “Good,” he stated, and Armin was in motion again, Levi pulling him up by his bunched up shirt and in a blur of movement – had his feet even touched down? – he was on the floor again, his chin cracking against the surface – he was sure he bit his tongue so hard it was bleeding – and he yelped, stars in his eyes as the pain radiated outward. His entire body tense, he didn’t notice Levi leaving him until he heard a thump on the bed, too busy feeling his shoulder and hip shooting up pains as well. He had a chance to take a quick glance down, seeing exactly what was keeping his feet from touching: a type of makeshift spreader bar, maneuver gear straps included, before Levi came back into his focus, irritated as ever.

Armin didn’t bother to speak, letting Levi manhandle him as he pleased, letting him use his foot to roll him back on his knees, cheek once again pressed to the floor. And he wasn’t going to argue when Levi pressed up against him from behind, finally validating the arousal Armin had hoped he had caused him. But when he felt his hands on his arms, untangling him from the restraints strapped up to his elbows – the metal cuffs falling to the floor with a distinguished _clunk_ – a question was already on his lips, but it melted when Levi forced a hand down his pants, wrapping his fingers along the seeping heat between his legs, a lurid “nnngh” replacing it.

His body reacted on its own, his hips turning and moving with the now stroking hand, yet another moan, wet and throaty and tasting of blood, falling from his open mouth. Armin dug his palms into the floor, glad he had use of his arms again, but unable to use them for anything other than immediate gratification. He intended to slip his hand in his pants too, but when his fingertips touched Levi’s hand, almost instantaneously Levi grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking up his head and forcing him to keep both hands on the floor to keep his body stable.

“Tch,” Levi sighed, pulling harder and contorting Armin’s body, seeming to be unsatisfied until his back arched painfully.

Armin whimpered, hearing strands of hair snap from the grasp, small tears forming in his eyes. “It hurts,” he said, his fingernails digging notches in the floor, Levi’s other hand no longer stroking his cock but unbuttoning his pants. There was no reply to his complaint, just a series of forceful tugs on his pants until they were to his knees. It wasn’t until he felt Levi leaning over him, a bare arm resting up against his side, muscled flesh against his back, the grasp on his hair unwavering, that he received a proper reply.

“Little shit,” he spit into his ear. “We have some fucking training to do.” His grip relaxed just enough for Armin to turn his head, knowing he looked more scared than excited. “Do you know why?”

Armin swallowed, catching Levi’s impatient look from the far corner of his eye. “Because I’m your bitch?” He knew that was what Levi wanted to hear, but he wondered what would have happened if he had decided to play innocent. The ache in his neck, however, told him now was not the time.

And then Levi let him go, Armin letting his head lull between his shoulders, a wave of cool relief washing down his back. “You’re too noisy,” Levi elaborated, grabbing a firm hold on Armin’s hip, pressing his own contained erection dangerously close to Armin’s entrance. “I’m going to force you to be the obedient dog you fucking are.”

Obedient dog? Armin shifted backwards, as if he were resting against the firmness of Levi’s hips. The thought of that heat inside him made him shudder. He could be his dog. But he didn’t make a sound until Levi’s free hand came back to stroke him again. And his hips were moving once again – fabric against bare skin – and long, slow pulls on his throbbing flesh had him moaning loudly. “Cor-por-al,” Armin whined as he tried to hold still, the bruising vice-grip on his hip just barely enough to keep him from grinding against the hand between his legs. “ _Please_.” But Levi didn’t respond, or at least not verbally, until he gave one last tug – ‘explosive nebulae,’ Armin would describe it as later – and once again left his dick feeling neglected. Armin let out another whine, swearing to God that he was going to explode and die before Levi was finished with him.

And then he heard a hollow pop, feeling something cold and wet snaking along his tailbone and continuing down between his legs. He turned to look, his brain already listing the possibilities the substance could be, and yet he was still taken by surprise when, without any kind of warning, Levi thrust a finger right through the ring of muscle that had been so eagerly yearning for attention, and completely inside him.

The noise he made, Armin wasn’t quite sure what it was. What he did know, was that his whole body lit up, muscles clenching and relaxing, and amongst it all he heard Levi’s voice: “Lesson one: silence.” The finger wiggled in place, and Armin responded, a tense moan wavering on his throat, louder than he knew he should have been. “That’s no good.” And punishment was quick; Levi’s finger slid right out, but that empty feeling was only momentary as something harder and much bigger was pressed against him instead. What a learning curve.

There was no time to question, it was already being rammed inside, the object rearranging his insides, the shooting pains melding with the indescribable pleasure that slid with every centimeter, leaving Armin silent, gagging on air. His arms couldn’t support him, sinking his face to the floor again, pulling his shoulders back as he tried to clutch at whatever his fingers touched, all the blood that had been in his head rushing to the spots Levi continued to abuse.

“Now you really do look like a fucking bitch,” Levi commented, sounding rather proud of himself. Armin didn’t dare to speak, letting his body get accustomed to the wide plug that had finally come to rest fully inside him, and wondered what felt so fuzzy against his legs. “And even no noise.” Levi bent over him again, the skin contact torture but the pressure his hips put on the plug even worse. Armin bit back another moan, curling his toes instead while Levi kissed the exposed skin of his back before letting him go, commanding Armin to get up. How was he supposed to be silent when he felt like this?

He took a moment, letting his body continue to supply electric volts to his fingertips and behind his eyelids – on fire from the waist down – and it seemed to be radiating upwards, constricting around his chest and holding his voice hostage. Still, he tried to relax, chewing through his bottom lip as he adjusted, pushing himself up on his palms again, unable to categorize the _fwump_ he heard out in the darkness. When he was able to take a shuddering breath, his body tightening around the plug again, he looked up and scanned the darkness for the older man. Levi sat not far from where he had been kicked from the bed, legs crossed and a stark expression of agitation spreading across his face. “I don’t have all _fucking_ _day_ ,” he said, though Armin already knew it was a farce. His foot tapped impatiently against the floor.

A faint sneer crossed Armin’s lips. He was unable to let this moment pass him by, silence be damned. “No,” he spoke under his breath, finding his ability to crawl much more embarrassing than he wanted to admit with the spreader bar in place. Even so, he felt like he owed Levi at least _some_ resistance. “You have _all fucking night_.”

Silence, then “what a dirty mouth for a dog,” Levi growled, keeping Armin’s defiant stare as he waited for him to reach the bed.

“A dog is merely a reflection of its master.” Armin knew the retort was weak, but he still felt a burst of excitement when Levi’s expression changed. It may have been dark, but there was no way he would have missed it. But when Armin straightened, pulling his body close to the bed, giving himself enough room to wrap his arms around Levi’s waist, there was only silence. For a moment, everything felt wrong, as if his comment had been more of an insult than he had imagined, but when he looked up into Levi’s face again, there was a playful – yet sinister – smirk on his lips.

Levi grabbed a fistful of Armin’s hair again, gently at first. “I will change that,” he stated, and Armin didn’t resist when he pulled his head back, exposing the length of his neck. With his other hand, he unbuttoned the rest of Armin’s shirt, tossing it behind him when he was finished. “Let’s get started.”

Armin shuddered at the thought. Levi hadn’t let his grip on his hair go, but was slowly tracing a path over his collar bones and down his back. He closed his eyes, fingers tangling in the sheets as he waited, anticipating too many things at once. What would Levi do? What _wouldn’t_ he do? The hand ended at his hip, but that wasn’t all; Levi pulled Armin’s hips closer, forcing him – and his still very hard erection – against his clothed leg.

Breath hitched in his throat, and Armin almost let a word slip out. That was _good_. Slowly, he let out the air caught in his chest, making sure not to make a sound – just in case a kick to his abdomen was in order – as Levi pushed his hips away. Armin groaned to himself, already missing the contact, but then Levi was guiding him again, rubbing and grinding his dick against his leg. Was this, part of the lesson? Armin wondered, letting his hips be rocked back and forth, trying to keep his mewling to himself. And then it dawned on him, just as Levi’s grip on his hair twisted: he was supposed to be doing this on his _own_. Armin’s face immediately turned white hot. Now was not the time to feel shameful, but it didn’t ebb even as he started moving his hips in his own rhythm, the brief friction just enough to give him shivers down his back each time.

“Good boy,” slipped the compliment, being heard better by his crotch – it twitched as Levi said it – than his ears. Regardless, it was encouragement enough, as Levi let his hair go again, and Armin buried his face in his thigh, panting. His hips were moving faster on their own, each collision rating higher on his body’s Richter scale, the only thing keeping him from doing this until he came – panting and moaning and a complete mess – were Levi’s hands now holding his hips, trailing the bruises on his thighs from his maneuver gear, tugging at the tail plug?!

Armin yelped, the sensation more surprise than pain. He froze, for a moment unsure of what to do. “Don’t _fucking_ stop,” was spoken low, and Armin complied, rolling his hips again. But he couldn’t stand Levi’s hands toying with the plug, twisting and turning it inside him, coupled with the abrasions between his thighs; it all clouded his focus, making him unable to keep up with any hip motions.

“Aah...I can’t,” he pleaded, bringing his hands to Levi’s thighs, grabbing them for all they were worth because he couldn’t do anything but push back against the hands toying with him, pressing his cheek closer to Levi’s own arousal. If only he could put it in his mouth. “I really...nngh...can’t,” he moaned, voice low. “Please just fuck me.”

Levi kneaded the muscle of Armin’s ass before he voiced a response, placing the foot of his crossed leg to Armin’s cock, pressing it into his stomach. “Dogs don’t get to make demands,” he spoke over Armin’s lewd moaning. “But,” he continued, shallowly thrusting the toy in and out, “I’ll take pity on you this time, since you want me to tear apart that cute ass of yours so fucking badly.” He didn’t wait for Armin to reply, simply standing up and untethering him from his makeshift leg restraints.

Was he still panting? Armin couldn’t tell anymore, his mind only focused on clambering into the bed, his legs finally free. He couldn’t hear anything other than the blood rushing in his ears. Levi was nice enough to help him into bed, disregarding Armin’s pants on the floor, and he didn’t waste any time slipping his own hands in Levi’s pants as the older man kneeled over him, finally kissing him on the mouth again. One hand hit heated flesh first, his fingers wrapping around Levi’s rather large cock while his other hand fumbled with his pants.

Levi let him struggle, his own hands all over Armin’s trembling body. But after another series of kisses and Armin still hadn’t managed to get him rid of his pants, he whispered “fuck,” and took them off himself.

“Sorry,” Armin mumbled, feeling pathetic through the lust. He just wanted him so badly; even the tail that was slipping back and forth near his prostate wasn’t enough. He needed him, all of him, and Armin wasn’t happy until he had his arms wrapped around Levi’s back, messily jerking his hips up to rub their cocks together. “P-please...aahn, please take it out,” he begged between pants. How much longer was he going to be able to wait? He pulled Levi closer, taking his mouth captive again, tangling his fingers in his hair and moaning wantonly into their kiss as Levi trailed a hand down, stopping to tease the tip of his dick with his fingers. “Nngh-no...aah!” Armin squirmed, breaking the kiss. “That’s n-not-”

“I don’t give a shit,” Levi stated, his voice lower than it was before. “I’ll touch you where I fucking like.”

“B-but,” Armin tried again, bucking his hips rather ungracefully beneath him, but Levi growled in response, wrapping his hand around Armin’s throat, choking off any more of his words.

“You’re pathetic.”

Armin’s gasp was involuntary, arching his back in a mixture of frustration and fear. He grabbed at the offending arm, but Levi was solid, and he couldn’t get him to move, air barely passing through his mouth and into his lungs. He tried to mouth what he wanted, another silent ‘please’ on his lips, but Levi seemed to have missed it as he was looking down. Armin followed his gaze, his eyes catching sight of the gray chunk of fur that was between his legs. He saw the glint flash in Levi’s eyes, and he saw his hand take a firm grasp of it. “Wai-” he tried to say.

But it was too late. In one swift yank it was out, a strangled scream bubbling from Armin’s mouth, tears now in his closed eyes. His body was screaming, and he knew his fingernails were leaving wounds on Levi’s arm and back, his mind a kaleidoscope of searing pain and just as much intense arousal. He didn’t have the place of mind to resist when Levi lifted his hips, shoving his terrible heat deep inside him. He was moaning, he couldn’t help it, his head hazy from his futile pants; he could only get just enough air, his chest burning, and there was Levi, ruthless as ever.

Armin had thought the plug had stretched him enough, but he had been wrong. It was shallow, for one, and Levi was so much _more_. He filled him completely, tearing through him with each reckless thrust, and if he was screaming he didn’t care; Armin wanted them to hear. At the same time he was glad Levi had such a grip on his throat, even if it hurt. At least no one would come running thinking he was dying. “Aaahn, fuck,” he croaked out, the pressure in his groin increasing exponentially. His hand traveled to Levi’s hips, as if knowing his motions would help. He watched, lazily, as their bodies moved together; each time his hips fell, Levi’s collided with his, nearly shattering his pelvis and making him shriek in pain.

Levi didn’t speak – as if he would even be able to hear him – releasing Armin’s neck to bruise his hips again, and with only his collar as a barrier for his moans, Armin knew he was loud. He couldn’t help it, each breath barely making it to his lungs before Levi would force it out again, his pace increasing, slamming Armin against the bed. And he couldn’t take it, the pressure. The wet _shluck-shlick-shluck_ of his dick pounding his ass. Armin didn’t know where to grab, his hands finding the bedsheets again and balling large clumps into his fists, each muscle in his body tense and vibrating, every single one of Levi’s thrusts pummeling that spot so deep inside him he saw stars. “ _Please_! Nn! Aaah...fuck!” He was shouting anything that came to his mind, mostly curses. He thought his spine was going to snap, ankles locked dangerously tight around Levi’s violent hips.

He was going to die, he knew it.

And then his body cracked, a mere fraction of a second, and he heard Levi whisper a string of words, and felt each of his fingers drill into the bone of his hips, and he knew his lungs were inhaling, and a tremor ran up his body. He felt it just before it happened; Levi gave a series of short thrusts, and Armin felt the telltale throbbing inside him, his own erection trembling _just so_ before everything crashed around him, the jab at his prostate ricocheting through his bones, throwing his body into fits as he actually cried out when he came, the tension that had pulled his body tight snapping all at once. He couldn’t form words, emptying himself in spurts, his toes curling, thighs shaking as he stopped breathing, knowing Levi was still grinding inside him, and he threw his head back, riding it out as his voice warbled off into a sobbing “oh God.” And then Levi bent and kissed his neck, and Armin felt his cum shooting up inside him, hot and satisfying.

“Don't stop,” Armin whispered as Levi treated him to a few more, much more controlled thrusts. And slowly, his own body began to relax. He could breathe, and he let his legs fall from Levi’s hips, taking his face in his shaking hands and kissing him – wet and sloppy – again and again. Levi moaned into the kiss as he came to a rest, wrapping Armin up in his arms. Armin’s voice was weak. “Don’t pull out.”

He watched a faint hint of a smile finally light up Levi’s face. “Whatever you want.” Armin kissed him again, letting Levi roll him over, looping his leg over the older man’s hip. There was a long half-silence, Armin still sobbing as quiet as he could, Levi stroking his hair. Armin breathed him in, their bodies still so close – and now covered with his cum – just the way he wanted it. He had to have Levi’s arms around him, had to be able to wrap his own arms around him and know that he was safe. This was the only place he felt safe. And as his sobs finally quieted, Levi said, “what a sorry excuse for a dog.”

A smile cracked Armin’s wet lips. “I’m sorry sir.” He couldn’t help the laugh that sparkled in his lungs. “I’ll try harder next time.”

Levi took Armin’s face in his hands this time, looking amused. “Don’t apologize,” he stated, wiping the tears from his face. “I’m not interested in bestiality anyway.” Another giggle before Armin closed his eyes, focusing on breathing, know he was alive. Why did he always feel so dead? Why didn't think make it a little better? Something had changed, obviously, but he couldn't gather his thoughts up fast enough before he fell asleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Armin was awake. It was still dark, and he couldn't remember falling asleep, but he knew he was awake. There was the faint sound of birds chirping, their cheerfulness not something he wanted to be subjected to just yet, and there was breathing next to his ear. But he laid there, unwilling to open his eyes to another day – another attempt at living in this hell, was it? – breathing and letting the slow awareness of his body creep into his consciousness. It was too late now to pretend he was still dreaming and fall back asleep; this was bad. The breathing next to his ear could be no one else's but Levi’s; he was in bed _with their corporal_. This was _bad_. It wasn't something that happened, not like this; usually Levi was more than willing to kick him out of bed once he quieted down, so how had they fallen asleep together? And slept the rest of the _night_? Eren and Mikasa would be looking for him soon, and if he wasn't in his own room before they came knocking, then what would he do?

Panic was setting in already, the mere thought of having to come up with a convincing lie for breakfast giving his stomach knots. He should go. He should be in his room now, and he could plan out the rest later. But first, he had to open his eyes. _‘What a daunting task,’_ he mused, because if he didn't open his eyes, he still had that shimmering hope that this wasn't reality. Armin new better, and he told himself that too many times to count already, but he held onto the thought as a comfort until he cracked his eyes open and didn't see the familiar walls of his lonely bedroom.

Instinct told him to bolt out of bed, but Armin thanked the Walls that he didn't. He knew what had happened last night – how couldn't he? – and moving quickly was going to be difficult. His jaw felt heavy, probably bruising a deep purple by now, and he could still taste blood in his mouth. He brought up a hand to rub his eyes and was greeted with a series of welted scratches across his wrists merging with darkening red splotches up to his elbows. _Great_. It wasn't like he hadn't known he'd be bruised – just strapping himself into the maneuver gear was enough to irritate his skin – but this was bordering on ridiculous. He rolled his neck to get a glance at Levi still sleeping soundly, his dark hair tousled. The man wouldn't have any sympathy for him.

Armin chewed his lip, glancing out into the still darkened room; their clothes were still all over the floor. He closed his eyes, pushing the palms of his hands against his eye sockets and letting the frustration wash over him. He could do this. He was overreacting already. This was no different than any other time Levi tied him up, fucked him, and then kicked him out. Just, this time he didn't get kicked out so he had to kick himself out. Yeah. Ok. He massaged a few circles over his eyes and sat up, focusing all this attention on the sounds of the sheets crumpling at his lap than the pain radiating and expanding up his spine. He ignored it as he wiped his bangs from his forehead, tilting his body so he could drop his feet to the floor, hoping the cool early morning air would be a better distraction. But still, as his toes touched the icy old wood – when he had first come to the former headquarters made new headquarters, he was pleasantly surprised to find the upper floors were wood instead of stone – the pain in his hips became more apparent and he had to stumble beside the bed, hissing as he tried to stay upright but also silent. _This was bad_. Levi had wrecked him this time, and it was apparent by the purple around his ankles and the splatters of black and blue on his thighs and hips. Armin felt each injury flare as he limped, but as he stooped to grab his pants from the floor, his stomach rolled over itself and he had to cover his mouth.

It was so sudden. One moment he was fine and then he was retching into the trash, body trembling, and it hurt so bad because every muscle was tense and vibrating, pulling at his skin and sending pain to spiral from his fingers to his toes. He raised his head, feeling a migraine already starting to form behind his eyes, and he sighed, knowing that training was going to be a bitch like this.

“ _Fuck_.”

Armin turned, the voice not his own but the sentiment the same. His eyes met Levi's, calculating and irritated, probably pissed about waking up and finding him still here. A shiver ran through his body and he turned to heave into the trash again. This was so embarrassing; puking in front of the Corporal, naked, trembling like a leaf. “Shit,” Armin murmured. “This is shit.”

“You look like shit.”

Levi's voice echoed in his head. His stomach lurched again but it was quelled at his throat, and Armin let out a groan instead. He heard the man's feet padding towards him, and his fingers tightened into a death grip around the rim of the container. Was Levi going to really kick him out now? He wasn't heartless – Armin had always assumed – but this was an inconvenience for the both of them. “Wow, thanks,” he growled. He hadn't meant to sound so spiteful, but he didn't need his bad start to the morning validated; maybe he was getting worked up over nothing.

“Are you going to be alright?” Levi seemed willing to ignore his bite, leaning over him and brushing the hair from his cheeks. “I can let you stay here.”

Levi may have been speaking matter-of-factly, but Armin's heart rose in his chest. But so did this grating feeling of vulnerability, and his brain couldn't settle on if he should feel thankful for such a kind offer, or insulted because he was – in a roundabout way – being called weak. “I'm fine,” he snapped first, brushing the lingering hand from his face and pulling his legs closer in efforts to stand up. However, they trembled, and Levi's hands were already on his shoulders, and his stomach was gurgling again as he dropped his face back to his personal vomit bucket.

“You're not leaving,” he heard over his gagging and heaving, all traces of food having been expelled in his stomach's previous attempts to make his life even more miserable. Armin lifted his head, about to object, but catching Levi's stern expression which told him to shut his mouth. He had stood up, bundles of clothes wrapped in his arms. “How much blood did you swallow last night?”

Armin's eyes fluttered closed, then he reopened them. “What?” He caught the exasperated eye roll before Levi stepped up to him again, kneeling and wrapping his fingers on his chin.

“Open up.” Armin did as he was told, suddenly unable to look the man in the face. Armin let his eyes travel the room, the messy sheets on the bed, the neat pile of leather straps that had, at some point, been organized, anything but the cool eyes examining him. Then he heard Levi click his tongue, and he was towering over him again. Armin didn't look up. “You fucked up your tongue,” he started, placing his now free hand on his hip. “Don't swallow any more blood, and don't get sick on my fucking floor. If you don't feel better in a few hours go find Hanji.”

“But-”

“I'm taking your clothes with me, so unless you want to walk out fucking naked get your ass back in bed.”

What the fuck? Armin didn't have the nerve to disobey, muttering a “yes, sir” under his breath and slowly getting to his knees. Levi was going to let him stay? That only added to his uneasiness. Eren would surely come looking for him after breakfast, and even though he knew no one would _ever_ think of looking in the Corporal's personal quarters, he was still wary. How was he supposed to get around without anyone seeing him leave? Not to mention Levi was taking his clothes, and though they were practically the same size, wouldn't someone find it a little suspicious washing only two of the same outfit? It wasn't that Armin didn't trust the man in being inconspicuous – in fact it was very much the opposite; they had kept their night-time escapades unknown for a few months now – but he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that was sinking in him no matter how hard he tried as he stood, body still reeling as he shuffled back to the bed. He heard Levi get dressed – refusing to watch, the slowly coming dawn casting the room in an opaque blue, and he'd rather watch the colors change before his eyes than _him_ – and soon he left without a word. Armin settled into the bed again, only able to lie flat on his back to not feel like his pelvis was splitting. What the fuck was this feeling in his chest?

He didn't know what to do. It wasn't like he could go back to sleep, and he dreaded getting dressed later and having to make sure to cover up every single bruise. He hadn't even seen his face yet, and he still didn't have an excuse for it. What was Eren going to think? He could feel his best friend's eyes on him already, his voice heated and swift: _what happened? Who hit you?_ And he knew it would quickly turn into anger. _Tell me who hurt you, I'll make them so fucking sorry_. Armin shook his head. Eren had become a handful, well, more than usual. But he wasn't going to think about it now; times were dire with each failing excursion outside the walls, and with most of their friends dead...Armin sighed, rubbing his eyes again. He wasn't going to think about it. He didn't want to remember how useless he was at protecting everyone. He didn't want to remember the dead bodies, the screams, the _smell_. He shuddered, feeling queasy again. He kept his eyes closed, counting in multiples of three to keep his head clear.

At some point, he had fallen back to sleep. The sun had risen when he opened his eyes again, however he didn't feel much better. Yet the light was dull as it filtered through the window; he knew he couldn't have slept long. Sitting up, he resisted his urge to stretch and noticed his clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed, his gear laid beside it as well. So Levi had returned. Again, Armin felt conflicted. He could have at least woken him up, and yet did that mean he was being considerate by letting him sleep? Was it because he was ill, or because the Corporal felt guilty? Armin shook his head. Why did it even matter? What use was this train of thought? _'It's not like I love him,'_ he thought as he leaned onto his knees and grabbed his possessions. _'It's not like he cares about me, it's not. It wouldn't even matter.'_ Maybe it was inevitable for him to grow attached to someone who fucked like Levi did, but if it was anything, then yes, it was attachment. There wasn't room in the world for love anymore, not in _his_ world, and Armin didn't want to have his heart shattered again; he had had enough of it already. He had had enough of everything.

He ran a slow hand through his hair, letting his bangs fall back into place in front of his eyes. He wasn't going to start down that path again, he _wasn't_. So he dressed as quickly as he could – making sure every coverable mark was covered – finding his boots sitting neatly in the far corner of the room, and he wondered if he should take the dirtied sheets with him. But upon thinking that thought through, Armin sighed and made the bed, knowing he couldn't just take the sheets and walk all the way to Laundry without having anyone question him. He still didn't know what he was going to say if anyone asked where he had been, however, his growing migraine did give him an idea. He fluffed the last pillow, slipped on his boots and prayed no one would see this room until the sheets were clean. Levi would be pissed, but he could handle that.

It was quiet as Armin wandered the halls. He figured he could find Hanji and get something for his head, and try to make it back to his room in peace as quickly and silently as possible. He had only been walking a few seconds but already his knees were aching. A groan rattled in the back of his throat. How was he supposed to make it through training today? With the thought of another round of drills ahead of him – Erwin seemed to feel pretty dismal at the low maneuverability rate of most of the troops just as much as he did, especially after getting slaughtered like they had only days ago – Armin was grateful to at least be handed some medicine from a very distracted looking Hanji – raving about something or another once again – before he made his way to his room. He could still smell breakfast wafting through the halls downstairs, but his stomach was still telling him 'no' and that he would rather lie down than sit on those hard chairs again.

Taking the stairs proved to be much more difficult on the second go. He hadn't had a problem going _down_ the steps to find Hanji in thier self-proclaimed “titan science lab,” but getting back _up_ them, on the other wing of the castle that lead to the lower ranked soldier’s rooms? Torture. Not only was the staircase steep, but most of the stone steps were in disrepair and required a certain amount of balance to traverse safely. Why was he even using these steps? Oh, right, trying to avoid Eren. It was funny, because even though he was trying to avoid his presence, his friend took up residence in his head instead.

There was no doubt Eren had been growing suspicious of his absences. They had used to be inseparable – Annie inexplicably bonding them closer together rather than tearing them apart like he had feared – but now thanks to his own doing, Armin was isolating himself. Mikasa had a knowing look about her now, tending to keep more and more silent during Eren's rapid-fire interrogations, but Armin wasn't sure if it was because she knew something, or if she merely thought Eren was right. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to judge her, but Armin was more willing to blame himself and his lack of perception than it being any fault of Mikasa's; maybe he was just paranoid, or even all the sex was getting to him. Armin snorted. He wasn't actually getting much of anything. His time with Levi was short and infrequent – maybe only once a week if he was extremely lucky – even though it had expanded in intensity. That was simply the result of stress, and stress was _not_ affecting his judgments.

Taking the last step, Armin peered around the corner, listening to some fading dialogue and tugging at the top button of his shirt as he looked for any more living beings inhabiting the hallway, but it had melted into silence. He wasn't too far from his room, and he turned over the leather harness he had been holding in his other hand one more time before stepping out, intent on keeping a quick yet silent pace. Rounding another corner, his door was in sight, and he slipped inside without a noise, letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. With the door locked, he placed his gear on his desk – a “present” from Erwin for being such a tactical “genius” – and he laid himself gingerly on his stomach in bed. It felt so much better being in a place that felt so comforting. It had taken awhile for Armin to get used to sleeping on his own again after spending so long in the barracks with so many other people, and he had forgotten how recuperating it was to spend time alone. He took a slow breath, smelling his bed sheets and clutching at his pillow. Neither smelled like Levi, of course, but did he want them to? Armin tried to relax deeper into the bed; he wasn't going to make a good impression during training today.

He let that thought drift off with him, sinking into the darkness behind his eyelids. He was alone, far away from here, from anywhere, just...alone. There wasn't a sound, not yet, and it was too dark to see the field that he knew spanned out in front of him. He felt the grass sticking its blades up through his clothes, felt it in his nostrils and against his cheek. The rest of him was numb, possibly cold, but Armin knew that if he stayed here then it wouldn't matter. He would be picked up by someone, or something, sooner or later.

But that something...what was it? There was a faint sound in the distance, chiming out into the night. What was it? Who was it again?

“Armin...?”

No, no, it wasn't him; how could it be? It was much too far away. However, the noise, high-pitched and continuous, sounded like it was coming closer. He heard his name again, under that noise, and as it encroached upon him, smothering him with a ringing between his ears, heavy and sharp, he realized it was screaming. The sound of horror in that wail, the warble of the pitch, the breathelessness as it seemed to continue on, not coming from human lungs even though no other being could sound so horrified. It was wet, as if between sobs, and then it cracked, a loud pounding reaching his ears.

“Hey Armin!”

And he bolted upright, the screaming bouncing in his head, but he realized with a glance that he was back in his room. Alone. As safe as he was going to get. And someone was knocking at his door. “Hold on,” he croaked, clearing his throat as he stood slowly. Jolting awake had sent all his nerves firing again. “I'm coming.” Armin already knew who it was, and he wasn't ready. Steeling himself for the barrage of questions that were going to follow, he had enough foresight not to try and bite his tongue lest he make it bleed again, and swung open his door.

Eren stood before him, Mikasa to his left, and Armin watched as Eren's bright-eyed look of eagerness shadowed into a heavy-browed concern. “Armin,” he breathed, bringing up his hand to cradle Armin's still-bruising cheek. “What happened to your face?”

He looked to Mikasa first, taking a split-second to recognize her blank expression before his eyes flickered back to Eren. “Ah,” he glanced away, already feeling embarrassed about the most pathetic attempt at a lie that clung to his lips. “I fell out of bed, actually,” he started, feeling his face get hot and hoping it wouldn't give him away. He'd have to look Eren in the face for him to believe it; avoiding eye contact was a blatant tell of a lie. So he forced his eyes up, locking his gaze and putting on a sheepish smile. “I fell right on the book I was reading; you know, the one from the Commander?” He watched as Eren's expression softened, grey eyes lighting up again.

“You should be more careful,” he said, dropping his hand, but not before brushing his knuckles against Armin's hair. And then it was silent, and Armin felt his friend's gaze still on his cheek, and he shuffled his feet.

“So did you need something?”

Eren tilted his head and blinked. “Oh right!” A smile careened across his face, but Armin saw it didn't reach his eyes. “Corporal wants us all down at the stables to get ready for drills.” And then Eren shifted, making a face Armin couldn't place. “You don't even have your gear on.”

“Uuuh,” Armin took a step back, feeling rather transparent. Why was he so bothered? “No, I was-”

“Lemme help,” Eren was saying as he came into the room, hands finding the gear neatly on the desk. “Take your shoes off, we're gonna be late!”

Hesitation. “Wait I can-”

But Eren was interrupting again. “Man, I don't want to be chewed out by him again,” he said as he turned, seeming to wait for Armin to do as he was told. “Especially when it's not my fault,” he laughed, and Armin tried to laugh with him.

So, he kicked of his boots, letting Eren wrap his hand around his feet and buckle him in as he worked with the straps crossing his chest, quickly locking himself in and meeting Eren at his waist. “Thanks,” he said as he slipped the leather from Eren's fingers and fastened the last buckle, feeling awkward with Eren's hands on his hips, looking up at him as if searching for something. Eren never had been subtle. “I got it,” Armin grinned as he inched back, pulling his boots on again and giving Mikasa another look. She had moved to the doorframe, but she stood just as stoic as before. He turned away, grabbing his cloak from its hook. _Wings of freedom, hmm?_

“Come on, let's go!” Eren chided as he grabbed Armin's hand, leading him out of his room without a glance.

This was strange, wasn't it? Had Eren always grasped his hand this firmly? Was he really so worried about being yelled at, or was Eren concerned for him instead? Armin smiled, feeling warm at the sentiment, though knowing Levi wouldn't bother to berate him if he was late today. But Eren didn't know, nobody knew, and it had to be kept that way. If Eren knew the bruise on his face was from Levi...Armin shook his head, focusing on trying to keep pace with an aching body and not show it. He wrapped his fingers around Eren's own, letting himself be pulled, silent.

Levi awaited the three of them – apparently the last – with a stare so frigid Armin was sure the man had some kind of supernatural power. “You're late.”

“Sorry, sir,” Armin apologized first, knowing full well it wasn't going to make a difference. He wrestled his hand from Eren's – much to his friend's disapproving whine – and said, “I had some _trouble_ getting up this morning.” He just couldn't resist.

“Your excuses don't interest me Arlert.” He may have sounded bored, but Armin saw that twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Yessir.”

“Jaeger, Ackerman. Get your fucking horses, we're going. You too Arlert. I'm sick of waiting for you shits.”

Eren made a face, one of his usual combinations of undirected anger and frustration, and Armin smiled. “Could be worse,” he cooed as he saddled his horse. Eren grunted but didn't speak.

“I agree with Armin,” Mikasa voiced, finishing the reigns Eren left only half-buckled on his horse before she mounted her own.

“Whatever,” Eren groaned. But his bad mood didn't last long once they had caught up with the group and settled their horses into a slow trot. “So, you weren't in your room this morning; where'd you go?”

Armin paused from re-buttoning his cloak. Shit. “I went to go see Hanji,” it was only a half-lie, “since I busted up my face.” He turned to Eren, smiling to hide that his teeth were on edge. “It hurts you know. Never thought falling on my face could be worse than barreling into a tree.”

“I've told you before not to fall asleep reading,” came Mikasa's simple reprimand. Armin turned to her, about to answer, but the way she pulled at her scarf, loosening around her neck, reminded him of the bruises that were surely encircling his throat, and then she looked at him, unreadable as always, but something in her eyes told him that she was curious. At least. Armin refused to think that she knew anything. “Right?”

Armin only nodded, feeling exposed under her gaze, and shifted in his saddle. He could feel Eren burrowing holes into him, and he cast him a sidelong glance.

“You didn't eat breakfast?”

“I didn't, I went back to sleep.”

Eren sounded truly offended. “What?!” Armin jumped, feeling his horse startle as well, looking around to see if anyone had heard the outburst. But Eren merely continued. “You can't just skip it!” And then Eren seemed to take the hint, lowering his voice. “You've been looking sick for days, Armin. Are you okay?”

He couldn't deny it. Sleeping had been becoming more and more difficult. He had had a nightmare the night before they travelled out to set up another supplies route, and with the massacre that had happened during...he couldn't exactly shake the screaming. “I'm alright,” he chirped. “A few too many late nights, but I'm okay.”

Eren frowned. “You used to sleep really well.”

“I used to do a lot of things, Eren,” Armin smiled. “Times have to change. We're in the Survey Corps now.” He tilted his head, letting the rhythm of his horse lull his brain. “It's only natural to lose some sleep after how traumatic our lives have become, you know. The human brain can only take so much stress before it starts to find other ways to alleviate its....” Armin turned, finding Eren staring at him, not a thought on his face. He laughed to himself. “I'm sorry. What I meant was that it's to be expected.”

“Armin...”

“No, no, don't worry about it. I'm fine, obviously!” But he couldn't bring himself to paint on another smile. He touched his swollen jaw and sighed. He was feeling very off, and he couldn't explain it away this time; he didn't even know _why_. Usually, at least for half the day, he'd feel pretty great after his nights with Levi, but this one...no, it wasn't the Corporal's fault. He was simply worried about the drills today, that was all. Once those were over he'd feel just fine. Like normal.

Eren let out a sigh as well, turning his attention ahead of him again. “You're not skipping lunch too.”

Mikasa agreed, and Armin knew there was no way it wouldn't happen. That was fine, lunch sounded doable. At the very least, it was something to look forward to, unlike the looming clump of trees that was off in the distance. Great. Trees. It had to be trees.

Levi rounded the group around the base of what Armin could only call a half-forest. It really was a clump of trees, most of them no more than about eighteen meters tall, spaced at awkward distances apart, as if they had been planted in that position instead of growing there naturally. “This,” the Corporal called out, not even waiting for everyone to be within earshot, “is our training grounds today. All you little shits are going to practice your maneuverability between these trees, since most of you are complete morons when it comes to avoiding titans, as previously shown.” He crossed his arms. “And as much as I hate to admit it, some of the blame falls on me, and I don't fucking appreciate being blamed for shit that can be fucking fixed.”

Levi continued to talk, explaining the basics of the in-air obstacle course, but Armin couldn't help but let his eyes wander around his dwindling group of friends. How many times had he wondered how many were lost 'last time'; how many people that he knew were now dead? No one looked pleased to be here this morning. Erwin may have somehow rounded up more recruits – what was the use? Most of them barely looked like they knew what day it was, let alone how to maneuver around a tree – but they looked more terrified today than they when the blood of their friends was falling from the sky, gushing from the titan's mouths and from discarded limbs littering the ground. That had been so much worse than the chaos Annie had caused, worse than anything he had seen before, worse than when he had thought Eren had died, simply because he was going to die first and there was no way for Eren to know, no way to warn the others, nothing to do but wait.

He recognized only a few of the faces now: Connie, Jean, Sasha, Krista. But with the brand new faces fresh from the Walls and Gods knows where else – there had somehow been about thirty of them, but now that number had been nearly halved – it was not only strange to have people he’d never seen before, talked to, even known had existed, appear and die right in front of his eyes. Where had Erwin picked them up from? Why? How were they so willing to die for humanity when they looked captured and confused? Armin had his doubts about them, but it was something that couldn’t be asked, under Erwin’s orders, and the issue had been dropped. He could still remember the night they had all shown up: unseasonably cold and right after Annie had been shipped underground.

But, with Levi's squad dead, how were a few more inexperienced teenagers going to make a difference? The best, they were gone, and it was such a huge loss that Armin couldn't fathom why Erwin would even bother trying to replace them with rookies. If it had been any other time, a peaceful time where they could be trained adequately, then he could make sense of the risk, but as they were now, with only the Corporal as instructor and the threat of titans still oh so imminent...what was the point? Why were they even here? The supply line had gone unestablished twice now – even though the first had been a farce – and still, both times they had suffered tremendous losses, and if this was what the Survey Corps was now, loss after loss after loss, then why was he even here? How was he supposed to help make a difference? How could he help save humanity if all that awaited him outside those failing walls were the deaths of everyone he knew, and less hope than he had started with?

“Arlert!”

Armin jerked at the shout, sending his horse backpedaling as he realized he was being called. “Y-yes Sir?” he asked, pulling the reigns with both hands to get his horse still again.

“Since it seems a waste of your sweet fucking time to pay attention, you're fucking first. Get your shit and let's go. Everyone else gear up.” Armin replied with silence, most of the troop turning to look in his direction. He turned to Eren, who gave him a nervous smile as he dismounted his horse. On the ground, Mikasa placed her hand on his shoulder, and it was a nice enough gesture – he appreciated it of course – but it wasn't enough to settle his nerves. “Hurry the fuck up Arlert,” was thrown at him next, and he hurried to finish strapping himself into his equipment.

The trees looked a lot taller up close, but it was much more obvious now that they had been planted in such a way to be a complete pain in the ass. Fiddling with the clasp on his cloak again, Armin stood, waiting to be the first guinea pig in this death trap. He had to wonder why no one else had used this spot for training, but he let it fall as Levi took his place beside him.

“Let me explain this one more time.” Armin swallowed, feeling all eyes on him again instead of Levi. “Make one pass around the perimeter of these trees, then make your way in, grappling each tree only _once_. I will _fucking know_. You're going in groups of three when I say. Understood?” Everyone gave a slow nod and a salute, however Armin had been counting heads. There was an uneven number of people. One group was going to have four people, or.... “Now, Arlert here is going to show you how this shit is done. He's pretty average, so if he can fucking do it so can you.” Armin shut his mouth and closed his eyes, breathing through his nose, smothering his retort on his tongue. Focus. He could do this. Everything would be fine. He was worried for nothing. “Go.”

The sound of his gas canisters firing blurred out his thoughts, letting him focus on the trees, and just the trees. Armin knew he had messed up already, using too much force to get going, and as he anchored onto the first tree, it sent him in an counter-clockwise arch too wide to grapple the next. He was swinging low, and there were only two options. Miss the second tree and embarrass himself in front of everyone, or take the risk of firing a shot high enough to keep his ass from digging its grave into the ground. _'That wasn't much of a choice,'_ he thought as he fired the next wire. For just a second he was sure he missed, the ground getting uncomfortably close, but the wire pulled taunt, letting him swing around the second tree and grapple the third. And the fourth. The fifth tree almost caught him with one of its branches, Armin swinging under it barely with enough time to grab the next tree, ending up spinning outwards, away from the trees altogether, instead of towards the unreasonably close sixth one.

So all in all, he wasn't doing too bad, or so he thought. Completing the perimeter, the last tree seemed to disappear with his speed. Which one was he supposed to grab again? He hadn't passed it had he? And then Armin panicked, realizing he was headed feet first into the trunk of the tree he had started on, and that his next point was the tree behind him.

He could make it. He knew he could.

He just had to make it back around the trunk he was attached to without hitting anything. Though weighing the options, it seemed safer for him to rocket feet first into the tree than fire blindly behind him, but he had to at least try. He was going to try.

And he missed the tree completely.

“Oh fuck,” he murmured, in a panic, detaching the wire he was swinging with and firing off the other as it retracted. This one hit, barely, but it was enough to reverse his direction and let him swing between all the other trees with a lot less stress.

Well, almost. He had calculated one tree too many, and as he swung about twelve meters from the ground he saw there was nothing for him to latch on to. “Shit,” he cursed as everything slowed down. Armin wasn't exactly ready to plummet to his death, but each tree had been strategically placed to be just out of his reach. What kind of training course was this? It was much more suited to being called suicide. But he knew that it couldn't be possible, it wouldn't be safe to let others train here if the price for mistakes was death. Or near death. Was that why he hadn't known of its existence? Was that why he went _first_?! No no stupid thought, he couldn't think of that right now. He had to get higher if he wanted to live, in effect vaulting himself from the swing and using that force to make it close enough to hook another tree and slow his descent. But that required risk, one worth taking, because as he began to reach the peak of his swing, he knew that if he didn't he was either going to swing right back into the thick trunk behind him and breaking his back, or his wire was going to lose its hold, and either way it would be all over.

So he took his chance, recklessly blowing all the gas in his canisters, praying for the first time in a while that it was enough to get him far enough. And then his wire detached, the sound of it automatically retracting not the least comforting because it meant for a moment he was weightless. And falling. _No_ , he was _falling_ already. “Shit shit shit.” He fired everything, anything. But there was nothing but empty air, and the first wire fell short, arching so very high and hitting absolutely nothing. But the next one, thank the Gods, dug into the bark, flinging him feet first into the tree like a boneless doll – the force taking all the air in his lungs, his legs crumpling upon impact – but at least he wasn't fucking dead. Yet.

His heart was in his throat, but Armin didn't feel any pain. He heard the splintering of wood, and he knew he was falling, but he didn't feel an impact. Was this death? No, he was still starring at the sky, blue, cloudless. And then he took a breath, one he hadn't known he needed, but his lungs shook and he was coughing, gagging, wheezing. “Fuck Armin,” came an exasperated sigh, “calm down, you're fine.” Who was that? The Corporal?

And then, “Shit, Armin are you okay?!” Eren? He was coughing too hard to answer, but as his eyes began to focus and his ears stopped ringing he heard footsteps. “Armin? Armin!”

“Jesus brat, leave him the fuck alone for a second.” Armin wanted to turn his head, but his neck was radiating pain now. “Arlert, are you alright?”

Was he? He still wasn't sure. “I think,” he wheezed out, his chest hurting now too. What had happened again? Was he _moving_? No sooner had he thought about it, he felt his body being placed in the grass, Levi coming into view.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” he asked, waving his hand around. He was waving it, right?

“Um, two?” Even though his vision was a little blurry, he could tell it was only two. Or three. But probably two judging by the position of his thumb. His head hurt.

“Good,” Levi nodded, his face becoming a bit more clear once Eren came into his line of sight. He seemed ready to lean in for a hug, or something, but Levi grabbed him by the shoulder and practically threw him back three feet. “Don't fucking _touch_ him you shit, he fell out of a god damned _tree_.”

“But!”

The Corporal hissed and Eren fell silent. “Armin, look at me,” he spoke, softer than moments ago. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

It took him a moment to gather himself, the confusion fading as he sat in the grass, the morning sun warmer than it had been earlier. It felt nice. But he had to focus, he had to answer, he had to think, his brain still thick and cloudy. “My legs...really hurt,” he said slowly, watching Eren's look of horror crystallize on his face. He glanced at Levi, feeling sick suddenly, and looked down, half expecting not to see his legs at all. But they're there, and they looked fine. “Everything,” he elaborated more firmly, with a nod this time. “I hurt fucking everywhere.”

Armin caught Levi's smirk, just for a moment, before he offered up his hand. “Can you stand?” Armin took it silently; his knees hurt as he pulled them up, but that wasn't unusual. However, when he tried to put any weight on his ankles, a strangled shriek fell from his lips and he found himself back in the grass. “Guess not,” Levi mused, and for a moment Armin caught sight of Eren again, standing up and making his way over. But either he was too slow, or he knew what was happening, because he didn’t make it over until the Corporal had scooped him up in his arms again. “We're done here,” he said low into his ear, turning on his heel and walking towards the tethered horses, leaving Eren behind. “Hanji! Fucking took you long enough! Watch these brats for me; this one fucked himself over.”

Hanji? Armin shifted in the grasp, just enough to see Hanji and a few members of thier squad come riding up. “Armin!” they waved, and he gave them a meek one in response. Levi didn't seem willing to wait for a reply, since he was already loading Armin onto his horse like some kind of luggage.

“Sit.”

Armin grinned, stretching his legs over the saddle and giving a quiet bark. Levi grimaced, turning away without another word and stalking over to Hanji.

 _'What a day.'_ He sighed, feeling the adrenaline seeping from his body. Everything hurt. Everywhere. In places he didn't even know could hurt. And Eren. Armin glanced around, spotting his friend coming towards him, albeit slowly. Armin motioned him over, looking in Levi's direction and finding him still engrossed with the other squad leader.

“Are you okay?” Eren asked again, softly as he grabbed his friend's hand in his own. “When we saw what was happening, everyone freaked out, but Corporal Levi,” Eren glanced over, disapproving. “He told everyone to just watch. Fucking _sadist_.”

“I'm fine,” he smiled, recognizing his mind wasn’t in a place to be able to lie much more than that.

But Eren frowned, his grey eyes darkening to almost black. “Armin, you're not fine. You hit a tree full force. You blacked out. If the Corporal hadn't caught you.” But he stopped, shaking his head. “Did something happen between you two?”

Armin froze. “What do you mean?” He looked down, giving Eren the most confused face he could muster.

Eren shrugged, running his thumbs over Armin's knuckles a few times. “Well like,” he leaned in. “He's been very... _gentle_ with you.” Armin couldn't help the giggle that left his throat. Was it nerves? Probably, but how Eren proposed the idea, as if it was some dark secret, touched him in a way that he could only laugh at. “D-don't _laugh_!” Eren hissed, a well-suited flush enveloping his cheeks. “I'm serious, he acts different around you!”

“I'm sorry I'm sorry,” Armin smiled through chuckles, wishing he hadn't been placed on a horse so he could wrap his arms around him. Eren just looked so indignant; he couldn't help but smile. “I don't really know what you mean,” he continued, squeezing Eren's hand in his own. “Maybe he just has a soft spot for people his height.”

This time it was Eren's turn to laugh. It left his lips as a chuckle, but soon escalated in volume and intensity, a true laugh, something Armin hadn't heard in a while, and it felt good. He always wanted Eren to laugh, every day, and for a moment he felt warm and maybe even happy to bring that little bit of joy to him.

But it was short-lived, as Levi interrupted with “you two seem to be having a good fucking time.” Armin jumped for the second time at hearing his voice, again shaking his hand from Eren's. But Levi just crossed his arms, looking between them both. “Jaeger,” he finally started, seeming to get a grasp on whatever he had been wanting to say. “Take Arlert back to his room. Hanji will check on him later, so just get him out of that shit and back in bed.” He shifted his weight to one foot and continued. “And you better be back here in thirty minutes because you don't want to fucking know what I'll do if you're not. Got it?”

Eren gave a hasty salute, looking rather terrified. “Sir!”

Levi gave him a nod, turning his attention to Armin. “ _Do not. Get out. Of bed_.”

Armin swallowed hard. “Yes sir.”

“Good. Just take my horse; you're on it already anyway.” And he walked away. Eren let out a sigh.

“You okay?” Armin asked, not necessarily curious.

“I should be asking you,” Eren retorted, hefting himself up in the saddle behind him. “You're the one who can't walk.”

“I said I'm fine.” But Armin knew it was pointless to argue. Eren wasn't going to let it go until he got the news from Hanji. Until then, he was going to pester him to death, maternal instincts fully bloomed.

“I know that's what you said,” Eren sighed as he grabbed Armin's hips – the lightest touch he had ever felt – and positioned the both of them more comfortably on the saddle. “But I'm not going to believe that until I see it with my own eyes.”

Armin rolled his. “Yeah, I know.” He leaned back, feeling the warmth of Eren's chest against his back, and he didn't complain when his fingers slipped the reigns he had been holding from his hands. No doubt Eren made sure to keep the horse in a fluid trot, leaning slightly over him, their bodies that much closer. Armin knew it wasn't going to be a long ride, and that fact alone made him break out into a cold sweat. Eren was going to mother hen him all the way to the end, and he wasn't going to like what he was going to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't let this fast update fool you! I've had the first chapter written for weeks.  
> Anyway, I'd like to thank [sweet-arlert-booty](http://sweet-arlert-booty.tumblr.com/) for beta'ing this chapter and all around being amazing!!


	3. Chapter 3

His breaths may have been a bit too shallow, yes, but he had his reasons. His heart was shuddering in his chest, Armin unable to look anywhere but at his trembling hands as Eren clambered off the Corporal’s horse, feet thudding against the hay. _‘I have to carry you,’_ he heard repeated in his head again. It looped and looped: _‘carry, carry, carry.’_ Eren had been adamant, and no amount of whining or persuasion had changed his mind, even when he had feigned being close to tears.

“It won’t be that bad, I promise,” Eren grinned as he reached out, wrapping his arms around Armin’s waist. “It’ll be just like when we were little!” Armin couldn’t deny the wave of nostalgia that washed over him, but he wasn’t pleased about it. Little did Eren know, he had never exactly liked being carried by him as a child. So Armin didn’t speak; he just let Eren lift him from the saddle, determined to be dead weight as Eren whisked him from his seat without even a grunt, cradling him in his arms. “Come on Armin,” Eren continued as jovially as before, his grasp around his shoulders and knees warm and firm. “Isn’t this fun?”

Eren just chuckled as if Armin had answered, walking slowly over the gravel, the crunch of his boots the only thing Armin was willing to listen to. “You know it is,” Eren pried, glancing down, seemingly unfazed by the dark scowl Armin knew was on his face. He could feel it festering between his teeth.

“Eren, put me down I swear to God.”

“Huh?” It wasn’t even a question, Eren’s hand moving from his shoulder down to support his waist. “What for, you’re so light!” Armin stiffened, knowing full well Eren would notice, but his next words didn’t miss a beat. “Besides, I’m _way_ more comfortable than Corporal Levi right?” He looked down, finally, and Armin saw his expression change – a kind of surprise in his eyes – recognition of the frustrated frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”

If Armin had been the type to growl, he would have. But his frown only deepened as he repeated, “Eren. Put me down.” But still no dice. Eren just shook his head and smiled, an apology on his lips.

“No way Armin, you can’t even walk.”

“I don’t care just put me down,” he ground out flat. He would rather shatter his ankles walking to his room than have Eren carry him there. In the very least, he wouldn’t have to explain his bruises. Maybe if it had been another day, years ago before he felt too dirty to be touched by the people he cared about most, then he could have played everything off as a joke, but Armin felt too raw, too _wounded_ to let his friend, poor dear Eren, carry him like some treasured token to his room and have everything Eren had thought he knew snatched away from him. Armin couldn’t do that; he wouldn’t. “Eren please,” he pleaded this time, hoping he could finally appeal to that soft heart of his. “Please just put me down.”

The steps paused, just inside the large side door that lead to and from the stables, the archway casting a heavy shadow over them both, and Eren looked at him, really looked at him as if judging him before he spoke. “Are you sure?” He sounded hurt, the question quiet from his lungs, but Armin only nodded, and Eren slipped his arm out from under his legs, setting Armin on his feet in front of him.

And at first, everything was okay. Armin was going to thank him, he swore he was, but as soon as Eren’s supportive arms left him to wobble on his own, he felt his ankles shake, and he was on the ground before he could do anything more than bite his lip to drive away the pain. Eren rushed to him, his hands on him again, gripping his arm and hovering over his feet as if he could help, such a deep concern etched into his eyes that Armin couldn’t stand to look at him. He turned away, feeling sick as every curse he knew drifted heavy in his head, but he kept quiet, embarrassed, knowing there was no way he could ditch Eren now.

A breeze blew through the archway, somehow warm with a lingering chill, as Armin felt Eren lean closer to him. “You look like the Corporal with such an angry face.”

“Shut the fuck up Eren.”

He laughed, another passionate one, yet Armin ignored the spark that warmed his chest. He didn’t want this to happen, yet another series of mistakes. He didn’t speak as Eren picked him up again – where Eren’s hands shaking? – whispering words meaning to placate him as they walked, not listening to a single one. He wished Eren was right, that this was fun, and that he could enjoy it. He _wished_ he wasn’t so angry, so sleep deprived and lonely. He _wished_ he hadn’t messed up during drills, that he hadn’t woken up in Levi’s bed, that he hadn’t started to get close to him in the first place. He _wished_ he had never noticed that certain way Levi would look at him, a way that wasn’t at all unusual yet set his body on fire. He _wished_ he had never joined the Survey Corps, had never thought of leaving the Walls, had never even bothered to read his grandfather’s books. It had all built up, all those little things in his life, and here he was now, making horrible decisions his supposedly “genius” brain couldn’t get him out of. If he had just died with his parents instead of being sent to the landfill, if any of those monstrosities had eaten him instead, if he had just failed out of the trainee corps and lived on the streets, it would have been better than subjecting himself to more of this _guilt_.

He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to face another titan again, and he didn’t want to hear Eren’s voice. He wanted to be alone, just to sort his thoughts maybe, but now he was crippled and would have his friends – Mikasa, Sasha, Eren, Jean, everyone he didn’t want to see, and he didn’t want to see him – surrounding him for longer than he could take. He didn’t deserve it, and when Eren stopped at his bedroom door he was almost grateful, that twisted anxiety hardening his stomach telling him that soon, at least, he would be alone – if only for a few moments – because Eren was going to hate him.

Eren seemed to hesitate before opening his door, something Armin found a little strange but couldn’t bring himself to care. Eren sat him on his bed, turning around without a word and Armin half-hoped he’d just leave, but instead, Eren simply closed the door and locked it. Armin sighed, feeling his pelvis shoot up sharp pains as he tried to find a more comfortable position to sit, but if he leaned back every muscle between his shoulder blades hurt. He couldn’t stop himself from chewing his lip again, eyeing Eren as he strode across the room, a tentative smile on his face.

“Are you okay,” he asked, for what, the hundredth time?

Armin’s voice came out much weaker, more soft than he had anticipated. “I’m fine.” Eren had started to kneel at his feet, taking off his boots. “Y-you don’t have to do that,” Armin rushed out, tempted to curl up on his bed away from his probing fingers, but he stopped. Instead, he began unbuckling each metal hinge within arm’s length, hoping Eren would get the message. But as he slipped off his cloak and jacket, Eren working his way through the leather straps wrapped around his calves, he clenched his teeth. “I can do it myself,” he grumbled.

Eren looked up, bright as ever. “I want to help.” His eyes sparkled, really sparkled with such earnesty that a thorn worked its way into his chest.

“But I can-“ Armin started, bending over to snatch the leather from his fingers, but he didn’t bend very far before he remembered he couldn’t, another snap of pain clawing around his hips. “Ow.”

“See?” Eren sounded rather smug. “Just sit still.”

He tried, really, quelling the urge to squirm from Eren’s hands travelling his body with such light, careful touches. He was already in pain, a little more wouldn’t make him feel any worse. Armin tried not to think about it, trying to block the map of bruises that resurfaced in his mind, but he could already see them through his clothes, and as Eren fumbled with the bands around his thighs he flinched. “Sorry,” Eren whispered, traveling his hands around the strap to the buckle on the side, sliding it off without a sound. And then his hands were on his hips, making quick work of the buckles there, and he slipped the entire harness from Armin’s shoulders. He laid it on the bed and smiled yet again. “You wanna change, right?” He asked, his fingers coming up to the buttons at Armin’s throat.

Armin pulled back, his breath hitching. He gave Eren’s look of wary confusion some consideration before he grabbed his hand, stating, “I can do it myself.” But he felt his blood warming, embarrassed.

“F-fine,” was the hesitant reply, and Eren stood – looking quite unwilling – slipping from Armin’s light grip. “I’ll get you another shirt or something,” he drawled, turning away slowly and making his way to the small dresser.

Armin heart hammered in his chest. He had to remember to breathe, watching Eren’s stiff silhouette from the corner of his eye as he fiddled with the buttons on his shirt, wondering how he was going to get his pants off without making too much of a fuss. When Eren stepped back into his vision, a nightshirt and pants in his hands, he looked dubious. Armin took them from him without a word, honestly at a loss for them. ‘ _If I could just get him to leave_.’ So he looked up, giving him a tender smile. “Thanks, you really don’t have to stay, Levi is going to be angry.”

“Nah,” Eren shifted, running a hand through his hair. He was nervous, he only did that when he was nervous. “You’re more important than drills anyway.”

Armin flushed, not sure how those word were meant to be taken. “Uuuh,” he hesitated. Now that he had to make him leave, the words wouldn’t come. His mind was empty. “C-could you,” he tried again, feeling his face get more and more heated. “Could you turn around?” Close enough.

“ _Why?_ ”

Armin could literally _hear_ the superfluous questions marks falling from Eren’s mouth. He looked at him, incredulous.

The seconds of silence seemed to let Eren put the pieces together, and his ears turned a slight shade of pink. But then he chuckled, saying, “you’re being modest now? You never used to care before!”

Armin chewed on his words, feeling as much embarrassed as pathetic for having to act like this. “We’re not kids anymore,” he hushed, lowering his head just an inch.

“Okay okay, sheesh!” Eren took the bait, swinging around on his heel.

Armin hummed, not willing to respond. He tore through the buttons on his shirt, tossing it on the bed as he fumbled with his pants, hoping this was fast enough and that Eren wouldn’t get impatient. But of course, the zipper on his pants caught, and Armin tugged it up and down trying to unstick it. It only took a second, and when his pants hit the floor, he felt a small wave of relief wash over him. Until he heard something, something that sounded suspiciously like a very loud, very shocked, gasp.

Armin looked up, wide-eyed, to see Eren peering over his shoulder, mid-turn.

There were no words as they stared at each other, just Eren’s slow turn to face him, his eyes scouring each bruise, each bite, each scratch on his body. This was it. Armin could already see the anger bubbling within him, the way his fingers curled into a clench, jaw setting, the darkness seeping into his eyes. He had thought he had gotten away – so briefly – but Armin had also known better. He didn’t have that kind of luck, that kind of _fate_ to be able to continue with a secret that recorded this kind of evidence on him. Yes, he had known it was a matter of time. No, he was still not prepared. And Eren’s mouth moved, silent at first, as if he couldn’t find any words to say, and Armin had to break the gaze because he could feel his head spinning, his blood running ice cold and he wanted to die, all traces of his existence wiped from the world. There was nothing he could say to defend himself, not like this; he had barely been able to convince Eren to turn his back, what could he possibly say to the blatant proof his bruises were screaming? What?

What?

“Armin…”

What?

“How _hard_ did you hit that tree?!”

_What?_

What was this in his throat? A laugh? _‘Eren, you idiot.’_ But this was his chance, and Armin didn’t want to waste it; he ran with it. “P-pretty hard,” he shrugged, knowing that if he kept his cool then maybe he’d get out of this alive. But Eren was stepping closer, the expression on his face unreadable, and Armin shimmied further onto his bed, feeling more naked than he ever had.

“But,” Eren whispered, and then his fingers touched his chest, pinpricks of irritation sprouting in their wake. He traced along the bruising flesh, Armin shying away from his touch by only millimeters, knowing that what Eren was examining was in fact the aftermath of his impact with the tree. “But,” he repeated, fingers spanning his shoulders, dusting over the fading bruise on his shoulder, the welts and scratches on his wrists, the splotches on his thighs. “These other ones…” his voice falling so low Armin would have missed it if he hadn’t been listening. And then he caught Eren’s eyes again. They were melding mixed emotions, but what Armin could make out most was earnest, his hands too close to his naked lap – he almost never wore anything under his pants, none of them did – and Armin swallowed hard. Eren licked his lips. “Armin,” and a perturbed grin cracked his face. “ _Did the Corporal beat you up or something?_ ”

Eren was laughing. Eren was _fucking_ laughing. Snickering turned into a full on chortle at his own joke, but Armin sat still, knowing he couldn’t be serious. It was unpalatable, _especially_ for Eren because he knew how strong Levi was. He _knew_ it, and he was still joking about it? “You didn’t lose a _tooth_ did you?” he cackled, ending up on the floor giggling and wiping tears from his eyes. Armin saw the smile falter, but he kept his mouth shut. Was this even happening? Should he be angry right now, or should he be happy? What was he supposed to say?

“Go fuck yourself Eren.”

Eren’s hand stopped wiping his eye, his chest stopped heaving. Armin stopped breathing, thinking. There was just silence, the kind of silence Armin was sure would suffocate him if he didn’t apologize, if he didn’t say that he hadn’t actually meant that, that he was just angry and frustrated and so many things he couldn’t put into words. But he sat there, his nightshirt now on his lap and he couldn’t move another muscle. He hadn’t meant it. He hadn’t meant it.

“Armin, what-“

“No, shut up!” His mouth was moving without him. “Dammit Eren that wasn’t even fucking funny.” Armin felt his eyes getting wet. He wasn’t going to cry was he?

Eren shifted forward, pain flickering in his eyes. “No b-“

His arm was moving without him too, holding out his hand. “Don’t. I’m too tired for your stupid jokes.” What was he saying? And his body continued on, throwing the nightshirt over his head and pooling it at his lap. When Armin looked up again Eren had inched closer.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t...I never, you don’t tell-“

“What’s to _tell_?” Armin snapped again, unable to stop himself. He knew he was glaring, this sudden anger that was driving him unstoppable. Why did he feel so deeply offended? “ _Fuck_ , Eren it’s not like you don’t know everything about me!”

“But I don’t!” Eren jumped up, throwing his arms out as if in defense. “You don’t tell me anything anymore, Armin!”

“What are you _talking_ about?!” Armin knew, mouth already bitter. “All I do is talk to you! I don’t talk to anyone _else_!” And then he was standing too, as if his shorter stature would somehow threaten the taller boy. “We’re fucking _exclusive_ ,” he continued, throwing his hands around. “What else do you _want_?!”

“Armin,” Eren panicked, taking a hold of his shoulders. “You need to sit down.”

But he wouldn’t have it. Armin shook him off, yanking his body away from the touch, feeling his sore ankles grind against bone. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He was shrieking, “don’t tell me what to do, I can handle myself!”

“I’m just trying to _help_!”

“I don’t need your help!” Was that true? Did he really mean that? “I’m sick of your help, I don’t want your help!” No, that wasn’t true at all. “We’re not kids anymore.” That wasn’t true either.

“Does it _matter_?! I can still _protect_ you!”

“Wa- _what_?!” Armin stalled, his brain firing and his hands flying through his hair. “ _I don’t need you to fucking protect me_!” Yes he did. He wanted it, he _needed_ it. Armin pulled at his hair, feeling the frustration boiling inside him. He was going too far, he shouldn’t be talking, but he couldn’t stop. “Eren, oh my _God_ do you _hear_ yourself? What kind of bullshit is that?! You can’t _protect_ me, I don’t need it!” Lies. “We’re not outside the Walls, Eren, there are no titans here! What do you think you’re protecting me _from_?!”

“Armin, please.” Something happened. Something Armin didn’t take into account, didn’t even think Eren would do. He _smiled_ – as broken as it was, it was still there, the curve of his lips tilting faintly upward – and Armin didn’t understand. He couldn’t imagine, didn’t know why, and it infuriated him.

“NO! I’m sick of your _stupid_ jokes! Just shut up and leave.” Why wasn’t Eren yelling? Why wasn’t he angry? Why was he _smiling_?

There were a few shaking breaths, but Eren didn’t move. “Armin I-“

“Leave.”

Eren shook his head. “No, listen-“

“ _Leave_.”

“Shut up!” Eren’s hands found Armin’s shoulders again, gripping them tight as he shook him back and forth. “I want to know what’s wrong with you!” And now there was a desperation in his eyes, a kind of look that reminded Armin of the seconds before he had been eaten by that titan, his hand still stretching out of its mouth as if that had been a good idea.

“Nothing’s _wrong_!” Armin denied, voice cracking as he yelled. He didn’t want to lie anymore. He didn’t want to remember that.

“Something _is_ wrong; why won’t you tell me? I _need_ to know!”

“ _You don’t need to know anything!_ ” Armin screamed, his whole body stiff with the force of his yell, the heft of his denial. And it echoed around the small room, bearing down on them both.

The hands dropped. Eren took a step back, then another. Armin didn’t dare look, keeping his eyes on his swelling ankles. A few sounds escaped Eren’s mouth, but he didn’t form a coherent sentence. Armin watched his boots, feeling the crack he had made between himself and Eren begin to gape and fissure. He was ruining everything; he might as well finish it.

“There’s nothing for you to know,” he lied, voice small, warbling. “There’s nothing I want you to know.” He threw himself back on his bed then, refusing to look up. It was over, wasn’t it? With his own two filthy hands, he had soiled everything he held close. Maybe it was for the better. Maybe having Eren at a distance would be safer for the both of them. It would keep his secret – meaning at the very least there wouldn’t be any rumors for anyone to spread – and, as he realized with abject horror, that was all he wanted. “Please just leave.”

When Eren spoke, his voice was calm, peaceful even. It didn’t make sense. “I can’t leave you here.”

“Yes you can. The Corporal is going to beat the shit out of you.”

“I don’t care.”

A sigh left Armin’s lips, haggard. “Get out. I don’t _want_ you here.” And that seemed to do it. He watched Eren’s slow feet turn and vanish from his view. He didn’t move as he heard him hesitate at the door, nor when he passed through it. It was only when his door was shut again, and he could no longer hear Eren’s methodic footsteps, did he put his face in his hands, screaming silently as he felt something in his chest shatter. What did he do? Why? _Why?_ Why had he been so scared, so desperate to push him away, one of his last few friends that was still living, breathing, willing to stay by his side? Why? What was _wrong_ with him?

Nothing alleviated his thoughts as he curled up on his bed, hands buried in his hair as if pulling each strand at the roots could somehow let them out. Of course it didn’t, but that didn’t stop Armin from trying, from taking large fistfuls of hair and pretending the pain was a distraction. However, a few moments more and he sat back up, casting a solemn glance to the pants he had yet to put on, and he grabbed them, falling onto his back – yeah it hurt, no he didn’t fucking care – shoving his feet through their respective holes at the hem and lifting his hips, pulling them pants up and over and crumpling back into bed.

Armin rolled over, catching sight of his harness dipping halfway off the mattress. He reached out, feeling the cool metal of one of the buckles on his fingertips and fantasized for a moment what it would feel like if he wrapped it around his neck, then scowled, pushing it off. He fucked up. He fucked everything up. Why did he always fuck everything up.

He didn’t move for a while, rotating each ankle in a slow, masochistic daydream as he breathed into his pillow. Footsteps echoed the hallway – drills must have either ended or someone else had gotten hurt – as muffled speaking drifted in. Armin couldn’t make out anything intelligible, so he didn’t bother to react, keeping his right ankle now in a meticulous clockwise rotation, feeling the muscle grate and snap. He could take a good guess at what Hanji would have to say about it; that he should be keeping off them and especially not doing what he was now, but Hanji wasn’t here, and there was no one to stop him.

Until Eren flashed in his mind, that dismay he saw between his laughter, and Armin’s chest tightened. Eren would be destroyed if he wasn’t able to fight, wouldn’t he? If his ankles never healed, would Eren blame himself? If he were to be kicked from the Survey Corps completely, what would Eren do? Armin’s ankle stopped turning, his chest burning. Every breath was fire in his lungs, and he clenched his jaw, pressing his face further into his pillow. He had to stay for Eren. For Levi too. He had to make himself useful, somehow. Any way he could. He wouldn’t be anything without the Corps, nothing at all. At least here he had a name; there were people who knew who he was. Armin Arlert. Genius. _Weak_.

So weak. Useless.

How could he…?

Who would he…?

A soft sob weaseled its way from his lips, drowning in his pillow. The tears he had been holding back were seeping into it as well, and he let them. No one would see, so why bother hiding it? Armin didn’t like crying, it made him feel feeble, but just for now, while he mourned the death of his friendship with Eren, the death of the ease his life had become, he could put up with the tears. Just this once, because he didn’t know what else he could do. Just for right now, because in only a few months time he had managed to drive away everyone, except Levi, and that brought with it a danger that was worse than death, a danger of humiliation, and if there was one thing Armin feared more than being found sobbing like a child, it would be the spread of his personal…matters with the Corporal. He could mourn everything, anything but that. He didn’t know what would happen if that secret ever came to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a lot of "yolo"-ing during this chapter, but thanks to [sweet-arlert-booty](http://sweet-arlert-booty.tumblr.com/) once again for being super awesome at inspiring me and telling me when I got my shit wrong (a lot).  
> Also, Eren's an idiot. I'm not sorry. There's gonna be a whole lot of that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, time to change the tags! Officially adding Eremin to this has made me feel good about everything. Also, I think my new philosophy for writing this fic is now "YOLO!!!!!!1!!".

“What I’m saying is, you really shouldn’t walk on them. At the very least, no more maneuvering for a week. Then we’ll see.”

“But what about-”

“Oh don’t worry about it Armin! Nothing’s broken, so I don’t see the point in transporting you to one of those hospitals. There’s not much more they could do for you there than we can do here, at least at the moment.”

“…Right, okay. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize; I know you’re worried. Sometimes I wonder if all that smarts in your head is good for you!” Hanji pushed his shoulder with a smile, which Armin returned.

“Yeah, I certainly wonder myself.”

“It’s good to wonder,” Hanji nodded more to themself than anyone. “But don’t think that just because you’re stuck here in bed it means we won’t find something for you to do.” It was then that Hanji started shuffling with the stack of papers and books they had brought, searching through the pile spread across Armin’s bed in mock fury. He could tell they weren’t in any hurry, their face had a certain peace to it – right between the eyes – that told him just how relaxed they were. “Aha!” they chirped at last, taking a long roll of paper in one hand and a thick pile of papers in the other. “This is Erwin’s latest battle plan,” Hanji said with a smirk, waving the long roll in front of his face. “He doesn’t know I have it yet, but I figured I’d take the initiative and ask for your help. See, old Erwin probably wouldn’t have the nerve to ask you to help at a time like this.” Armin would have disagreed, but then again he hadn’t seen the Commander in days. Maybe it was true. “Anyway, what I want you to do is review this. Erwin’s got some hot idea to make a run for another supply line, but this one isn’t as reckless as the last; we won’t be trying to round up titans anymore.”

Armin nodded, pushing the flashbacks as far from his mind as possible, the screaming muffled by his thoughts. “So those papers are for cross-referencing?”

“You got it.”

“I’m surprised,” Armin thought aloud, taking the presumed map and papers from their hands. “I assumed I would be doing paperwork, not strategic planning.”

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s plenty of that for you later.” Hanji grinned, their hands fumbling through their pile of books and papers again. “Anyway, that’s all I have for you now. Get some rest.”

“Right,” Armin waved them off, making sure to put on a bright smile as Hanji gathered their things and closed his door behind them. Once they were gone he sighed, glaring daggers into his bandaged feet and ankles, the pressure against the sore muscle and bone both reassuring and frightful. Limited walking for a week? That sounded much too long for a couple sprains. No training, only strategy? But, he couldn’t stay in his room for a week; what was he supposed to do with himself? Sure, he had wanted some time alone, but this was a little excessive, even for him. It was hardly past noon; there was no way he could review tactics until it was time to go to sleep.

Regardless, he began to unroll the large sheet of paper, spreading it across his lap and laying the other assorted documents on top. It was a simple plan, it seemed. Similar to their first excursion, it was only the bare bones. So this was the grand 60th Expedition? Armin shuddered, his mouth feeling dry and sticky. If he thought about it, he could still taste the blood in his mouth, the way the ground smelled as bodies were ripped apart in the fading light. He rubbed his eyes, the scene disappearing before he could bubble up the memory with it and he stared at the lines and diagrams on the paper again. He couldn’t do this. Every time he looked at the crudely drawn symbols his mind went far away, back to the last mission, back to the screaming.

That had been the worst, if Armin could have picked through each detail and ranked it. The screaming was the worst. It was so inhuman but _not_. So feral, yet _not_.

And as if to pull him from the murky waters of that lucid memory, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Armin said without a thought, wincing as a muscle in his leg decided to spasm. The doorknob turned – with what sounded like difficulty – and Mikasa strode into the room with a tray nestled between her elbow. From the smell, she had brought him lunch, and his stomach dropped.

“How are you,” she asked, stepping up to his bed and waiting while Armin made space for her. He noticed the gaze she placed on the assortment of papers on his lap, but she didn’t say anything else, presumably waiting for his answer.

“Alright,” he dismissed, rolling up the plan as quickly as he could before nestling it between his ankles, setting the pile of other papers on top. “Thank you.”

Mikasa settled herself on the edge of the bed, rotating the tray on her arm and offering it up. “For what?” She didn’t look quizzical in the least.

“For lunch…?”

She nodded. “Eren was persistent.” She adjusted her scarf, a faint whisper of a smile on her lips. “So how are you,” she reiterated.

Armin felt his mouth pull into a frown as he settled the tray – with a bowl of some kind of soup, and bread, and even a large glass of water – on his lap. “Alright.” He kept his gaze on the food, feeling ill if he was being honest, as he stared at it. Mikasa was looking at him, he could feel it, but he didn’t want to talk. “I’m fine,” he said again when he had mustered the nerve to look up, scanning her face for some kind of acceptance, but it wasn’t forthcoming.

“Armin,” her voice was cool. “You don’t have to hide it from me.”

“Hide what?”

“You’re hurting; I can see it. Eren can see it.” Armin reached for his water, putting the glass up to his lips and leaving it there. So he hadn’t been fooling anyone; he was just as transparent as he had felt he was. “It’s okay,” Mikasa continued, the ease in her voice lulling him like a sleepy puppy. She had grown, somehow, between all the missions and stress and fear, into something much softer, but also distant. Even though the change suited her, Armin almost missed how blunt she had used to be. “If it’s a secret, you can tell me.”

He wanted to tell. He would have _loved_ to tell, to keep his friends from worrying about him. He would have _loved_ to ease that distress, to wipe it away completely, but he knew Mikasa wouldn’t be willing to accept it because she knew where this behavior stemmed from – she was completely in control of herself, unlike him – and then, of course, Eren would have to know. Eren. He wouldn’t _want_ to know. None of them were virgins anymore, not really. Things happened, and Armin couldn’t change that. But even still, once he had realized how he was, how sick a fascination he could harbor, he had locked it away and everyone continued to pretend he was just as innocent and “sweet” as before. Though Armin knew he wasn’t, and Mikasa had seen the tail-end of that travesty, and it all felt like a farce. His entire existence was a sham.

“I don’t have anything to tell,” he spoke around the glass at his lips, finally taking a sip and feeling the dryness he had been ignoring in the back of his throat ache with satisfaction. Mikasa didn’t look convinced, and Armin placed down his glass to smile at her. “None of it is important, honest.” His eyes fell back on his food, away from her prying eyes, the smile slipping. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

Armin flinched as Mikasa took his hand, her fingers warm and work-worn, but still smooth like they used to be. But he didn’t like her fingers on him, yet he couldn’t pull away as she guided his hand to the spoon nestled along the edge of the tray, exposing the harsh red welts on his wrists. “Then let me see you eat,” she stated, slipping the cool metal into Armin’s fingers and waiting, her hands drifting away from him. He swallowed. If she had something to say about his injuries she didn’t speak them. But this test – the spoon wavered in his hand – he wasn’t going to pass it.

“I-” he faltered, feeling suddenly panicked and flushed. _‘She’s testing me. She’s testing me and I’m going to fail. She’s going to find out.’_ “I’m not really,” Armin turned to her, cracking another smile under her gaze again. “I, uh…” But he couldn’t finish, and Mikasa merely raised an eyebrow – ever so slightly – in expectation, and Armin turned back to his soup, the yellowish color itself off-putting enough. He didn’t have an excuse; he had to eat.

It was always harder taking the first bite, but as he let the liquid slide down his throat, he did feel somewhat better. The second spoonful was easier, especially as he watched the terseness that had rested in Mikasa’s eyes fade into a cool comfort. So she wasn’t as worried as she had been. She was motherly in that aspect alone: making sure those dear to her were fed and breathing. But even though she didn’t question him again, and told him to be careful about his ankles – Armin assumed she had heard from Hanji, because she didn’t ask for him to validate her assumptions – he could feel her curiosity. The prickling feeling of unspoken words behind her lips. But she still left him with his lunch – which he couldn’t bring himself to finish – and after what seemed like days of reading Erwin’s reports and sitting there _thinking_ , Armin couldn’t anymore.

Unfortunately, the feeling of restlessness persisted into the next morning.

When he had woken up – his bedroom a murky kind of grey – he had to sit up and body-check, praying he still had all his fingers and limbs, his ears, hair, eyes. Everything. The sound of his ears ringing the only noise trying to convince him he was alive – dead people didn’t hear, right? – and while his lungs shivered with each deep breath, every one deeper than the last, Armin pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes and choked out a sound. He wasn’t going to cry, but he was willing to throw up. It felt like something was lodged in the back of his throat, and he gagged on it, the fleeting thought of throwing up for the second morning in a row grating on his nerves. But he held it down, his fingers in his hair again. What did he have to do to _forget_?

Slowly, Armin let his hands fall, clutching the sheets instead as he swallowed. “I’m fine,” he whispered to himself. “Just fine. Everything is fine.” Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he was careful not to hit the tray of half-eaten food on the floor – he had fallen asleep before dinner, specifically to avoid having Mikasa or Eren finding out he hadn’t finished lunch – and bent to pick it up. Placing it on his bed, Armin braced himself against it and stood, noting how his ankles wobbled, but were much more sturdy now that they were wrapped. The initial sharp pains that had dug into him were subsiding into a hot burn, and he knew he shouldn’t be walking just yet. Logically anyway, but at the very least he wanted to get his food to his desk while grabbing all the papers he had managed to hobble over there yesterday.

His glass almost clattered to the floor, but he made it, dropping the entire tray with an arrangement of noise and swiping all his documents – thanking the Gods that his bed wasn’t far from his desk – and tossing the map over his shoulder. He had just sat himself back down when he heard a trail of footsteps, and as he rested his feet back into the mattress, there was a knock at his door. Armin didn’t have a chance to answer; Eren just let himself in, a restrained smile on his face and – to Armin’s horror – his breakfast.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Armin echoed, watching Eren with a doubtful gaze. His hair was messy this morning, and it actually looked wet, blacker than usual. Curiosity gurgled in his stomach instead of hunger; did something happen? Maybe it was trivial, but he couldn’t help but wonder; it wasn’t raining after all, and morning showers weren’t his thing.

“I brought you breakfast.”

Armin let out a stiff chuckle. “I see that.” He watched Eren step closer to him – “wary” would have been the most accurate word to describe him – holding the tray with his food in a grip that seemed a little too tight. But Armin had no plans to apologize, to even bring up the fact that they had fought only yesterday. The memory of his faltering smile flashed before his eyes, drawing the inside of his cheek against his teeth. How could he apologize? He couldn’t admit he was wrong without incriminating himself.

“Ah,” Eren faltered, eyes drifting over to the previous tray Mikasa had bought before stepping up to the side of the bed. “Yeah, I guess you can,” he mused quietly.

Armin felt his eyes roaming over his body, probably looking for new bruises that could have formed in his sleep, and he noticed how Eren’s eyes would flicker back and forth between his face and his bandaged ankles. Feeling vulnerable, he asked, “is that for me?” Eren’s eyes flashed over the food – some kind of porridge, it looked like – and an outline of a smile formed on his lips.

“I thought you might be hungry.” He settled the tray on Armin’s lap. “Since you missed dinner.” Armin didn’t bother to reply, seeing Eren look hesitant as he took up the spoon and dipped it into his cooling cereal. “Are you,” Eren started before falling back into silence.

Armin, determined, shoved his spoon into his mouth before he let himself speak. “Hm?” He looked up, fully expecting Eren’s answer as their eyes met. He looked worried, a hidden kind of worry muddled in those eyes.

With a sigh, Eren looked away, muttering, “are you feeling okay?”

Was he? Honestly? “As good as can be expected,” Armin dismissed, focusing his attention on his food again. It was sweet, and milky, and it reminded him of the simple porridge his grandfather would make him when he wasn’t feeling well. It was nothing like the hot cereal they were usually given. “The Commander gave me some things to do,” he let the sentence fall, not sure where he had intended to go with it anyway. Armin spooned in another mouthful to keep himself from talking.

Eren seemed unable to hang onto the silence, soon talking about how he got in a fight with Jean during dinner – over what, he didn’t say – and even though Armin was mostly silent, it felt like a more comfortable silence than before. He listened to Eren’s monologues, feeling maybe a bit normal in the first time in a while, but as he scraped the side of his bowl and swallowed the last he could muster, it shifted.

Eren had been mid-sentence, and he paused. Armin turned to see the reason for his distraction, but the only clue he was given was Eren’s furrowed brow, eyes focusing on Armin’s hands. “Eren? What’s wrong?” But he didn’t answer.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” he said after a few tense moments. Armin felt all the blood rush from his face. Was he going to start that _again_? Hadn’t he learned already?

“Eren, I-”

But Eren shook his head, leaning over too quickly for Armin to let it register in his panicked mind, feeling Eren’s fingers brushing away his hair and his hot lips on his forehead. “But I don’t like to see you hurt,” he murmured into his skin. Armin didn’t reply. What could he even say? ‘Thank you’? No, that wasn’t a proper response. However, he didn’t have time to keep thinking as Eren’s hands found their way to his cheeks, and Armin tried to pull away.

“I know,” he tried, leaning back far enough to see the hurt in Eren’s eyes, and he felt so _guilty_ for being the source of it.

“I know you know,” Eren continued softly, coaxing Armin in that gentle way he had, back towards him, his hands pulling him closer, pressing Armin’s forehead to his own. “But I,” he whispered, his breath so warm against his cheeks. This was familiar. How long had it been, actually? When was the last time Eren touched him like this? “I just want you to know,” he finished, pressing their mouths together unbearably tender.

And Armin couldn’t resist, letting Eren kiss him slow. It had always been platonic before, years ago before he had messed everything up, but Eren’s lips on his – parting, breathing, licking – was a deep seated comfort Armin had forgotten he needed. Ever since….

A soft whimper escaped Armin’s lips, his eyes shut now because this was such a _bittersweet_ betrayal. Though he let Eren part his lips and slip his tongue inside, he let himself react, his hands on Eren’s forearms, and he didn’t care that he slid his own tongue against Eren’s, the familiar texture sending his body reeling as it pulled up hazy memories. And he didn’t object when Eren pulled away, his face as flushed as Armin’s felt, and when Eren smiled at him, Armin smiled back.

Maybe it was an apology. Maybe it wasn’t.

Armin reached up and ran a hand through Eren’s hair. It really _was_ wet. “I think I understand completely.”

“Good,” Eren sighed, his hands vanishing from Armin’s face and finding their way into pockets as he backed away, just out of Armin’s reach. “Cause you know how bad I am with words,” he grinned.

Armin rolled his eyes. “Very well.” And then silence. It stretched as Armin turned back to what was left of his breakfast – about half – and the feeling of hesitation seeped from Eren. He was fidgeting, obviously wanting to say something, but Armin didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t ignore him, no, but as the seconds passed he felt he should at least try and pull up a subject. “You know,” Armin grabbed the mug resting on his tray and realized it was _tea_. “It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

_‘What the fuck Armin.’_

He watched as Eren’s ears turned pink, horrified at what he just said, praying Eren wouldn’t take that as a clue to continue. Though, in the back of his mind, Armin already knew he wouldn’t resist if Eren put his hands on him, laid him down and touched him in ways much more gentle than Levi ever had. He wanted to take it back, to say something, _anything_ , but he had forgotten what Eren tasted like, and he forgot how warm he was when he would press their naked bodies together, and with a pang in his chest, Armin realized he had even forgotten what Eren smelled like; that post-sex exertion smell, the way his body would drape over his own. He wanted to remember them all.

Eren laughed, light as if he almost didn’t agree. But he still looked flushed. And for a fleeting second, between Armin’s eyes scanning the burst of heat on Eren’s face and his brain telling him that Eren was feeling exactly the same way as him, Armin wanted him. All of him. Just this once. Just like before. And sometime between that thought and Eren’s next breath, they were together again, Armin holding the collar of Eren’s shirt as he kissed him breathless. He didn’t care about the rest of his breakfast, or the fact that his door was unlocked; all that mattered was Eren’s mouth on his, the wet sucking of his tongue, and the half-moan building in his throat.

And then Eren broke away, his hands ghosting Armin’s shoulders as he looked at him with half-lidded eyes. “Are yo-“ he started to say, but Armin denied him, pulling him back for another kiss as his only form of answer.

“Shut up,” Armin whispered into his teeth, and Eren’s hands trailed down, so very warm, to rest just right on his hips.

“Fine,” he pulled away to say, tilting his head to kiss Armin’s neck.

“Eren,” Armin stretched, slipping his arms over Eren’s shoulders as he let his head lull to one side, giving as much skin as he could. He didn’t know what to say, other than Eren’s name over and over again, but it was ill-suited right now and he didn’t want to speak. Armin wanted to feel. The wet heat on his neck wasn’t enough, and he remembered bits and pieces of how good Eren felt, and as he felt a nip at the recent bruise he had gained from his collar, he chose his words carefully. His voice dropped, and Armin couldn’t let himself feel ashamed. “Touch me, please.”

Eren didn’t answer with words, simply lifting one hand off Armin’s hip and dipping down under the sheets, his fingers familiar with the warmth they found there, enticing a breathy sigh from Armin. “Does that feel good?” he mouthed into Armin’s collarbones.

Armin hummed a reply, trying hard to stay in the moment. Where Levi had been sharp, Eren was so soft. Where Levi was structured, Eren was natural, and with his fingers wrapped around that pulsating heat that bled into his thighs, Armin sighed, one smooth roll of his hips into Eren’s hand making him quiver. “I forgot,” he paused, fisting his hands into Eren’s jacket, “how good this feels.” And he wasn’t lying; Eren was completely different.

“Am I _interrupting_ something?”

Speak of the devil.

If there had been a noise Eren should have made, the one that left his lips was not it. In effect, he squealed, recoiling off Armin in record time, turning to give a hasty salute. Armin sat still, gazing at the intruding Corporal with unrestrained agitation. He couldn’t help it. But he copied Eren in a half-hearted salute before dropping his hand, curious if Levi would be as willing to jerk him off as Eren had.

“No, sir,” Armin answered when the silence started screaming to be filled, Levi glancing between the two of them looking rather angry.

“Well then Jaeger, get the fuck out. I need a word with Arlert.”

“Yessir.” Eren didn’t waste much time – Armin could never blame him for that; Levi was still plenty threatening – as he grabbed yesterday’s lunch tray and gave Armin an embarrassed look from over his shoulder. Armin read his lips, ‘sorry,’ and replied with a nervous smile, waving him off.

Once Eren shuffled out, closing the door behind him, Levi crossed his arms over his chest, and Armin sighed. “You didn’t have to scare him,” he said, rubbing his shoulders as he suddenly felt cold without Eren’s titan-heat so close to him.

“As if I’m going to sit back and watch my soldiers fool around with each other.”

“Don’t act like you never knew.”

“Not the point brat.” Armin continued to feign his annoyance, crossing his arms as Levi strode over to him, placing his hand on Armin’s head. “How are you feeling?”

If he were honest, Armin loved the Corporal’s infrequent displays of affection. He was prone to petting, and Armin couldn’t deny that he liked it. “Awful,” he admitted.

Levi nodded, running his hand through Armin’s hair before dropping his hand to his hip. “That’s to be expected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I cut that off rather abruptly I'm sorry. There are just so many plans. In my head. I have ideas. Also, yes, I changed pronouns for Hanji. I'll probably go back in the earlier chapters and fix those later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the sex in this chapter is dedicated to [Brownie](http://am-a-brownie.tumblr.com/) for being the perfect little shit and letting me read his fanfic. A PROMISE IS A PROMISE.  
> Sorry for taking way too long to get this chapter out. Been stewing on it for a while mostly because deep Armin things are trying to come up when I don't want them to. No one believes me when I say there's a plot here. Cockslut!Armin is a plot I SWEAR.  
> Oh, and I've fixed up the summary a bit. That may or may not change a lot, depending on where this fic goes. Summaries are hard.

How long was Levi planning to stay? Not that Armin was complaining, but didn’t he have something else to do? He had started to clean his room while they chatted, not exactly saying anything. It was strange to make small talk with his superior – Levi’s bored expression still never wavering – and Armin thought his own voice sounded more and more strained as he watched Levi traverse his room, the belts on his legs maybe possibly tighter than he had noticed before, the way his hips moved kinda sorta smooth and fluid, his hands looking a bit delicate, potentially.

Armin turned away – back to the documents on his lap – and he picked up the nearest paper, intent on reading it, even though he knew it by heart. It was a simple request for more supplies, like extra horses and traveling equipment. Nothing special. But it was a good enough distraction – he added and multiplied and categorized and sorted the numbers over and over again in his head – from Levi and his cleaning. How could someone who seemed so straightforward do something as _obtuse_ as cleaning his subordinate’s chambers? Not that Armin was complaining, but, he thought he knew the man – maybe a little – and something in the back of his head told him Levi wasn’t the type of person to just clean things he didn’t deem important. Armin’s things weren’t important – not to mention organized and tidy – and he sure as hell wasn’t going to believe Levi was _bored_ enough to do it. Unless he was killing time, but then, was he avoiding something? He shook his head, knowing he was thinking too much about it. That was why he had been reading, it was why they had both lapsed into a thick silence, and it was why he was ignoring the damned _boner_ between his legs. Wait.

There was a loud _thunk_ , averting Armin’s attention to the source of the noise, where he found Levi rifling through his desk, one of its large drawers presumably pulled open. “What’s all this shit?” Levi looked at him, expectant, waving a few loose sheets of paper in his hand.

Armin blanched. That was his painstakingly neat handwriting. “Those,” he muttered, wanting to sound indifferent but sounding more than terrified, “are just some things I wrote. I have nightmares.” He looked down, away from Levi’s cool expression. “So…kind of like a journal I guess?” He saw Levi nod out of the corner of his eye and place each page carefully on the desk, stacking them. To his breath of relief, he didn’t seem to be reading them, just moving them out of the way. Somehow, Armin didn’t feel like he needed to defend himself, to fabricate a story for his anxiety-reducing ritual, and it felt rather good. His chest didn’t feel so tight anymore. With a final glance as Levi continued to organize his things, he focused back on the papers nestled around him and sighed.

“Something wrong?”

Armin spoke without thinking. “I’m really aroused.” Or, maybe that wasn’t quite true. He heard Levi’s snort before he understood what he had said, cursing himself under his breath. But there was no point playing dumb anyway.

“What, Jaeger got you all turned on?”

Armin didn’t look up, feeling his lips starting to press together. “Somewhat,” he said, picking up another report. He heard Levi take a seat in his chair.

“What are the specifics between you and that fucking brat?”

Was he really asking? “Mm,” Armin started, fully aware that there wasn’t anything he could say that would make it clear; he didn’t know himself. He placed the report back down, shifting to catch Levi’s eyes. “We’re friends.” And he wasn’t surprised when he scoffed.

“A little fucking more than that,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

_‘Well…’_ Armin drew his bottom lip into his mouth. “We’ve always been close.” He had wanted to keep it at that, but it didn’t sound final enough, and he found himself talking again. “I mean, Eren and Mikasa and I have been the best of friends since we were children. And since we enrolled in the Trainee Corps together,” he couldn’t find the nerve to explain _why_ , “it just seemed…natural.” He shrugged then, wanting to scan Levi’s face for any emotion at all, but instead staring behind him.

“That doesn’t explain a damn thing,” Levi mused, catching Armin in a mocking smirk.

Armin shrugged again, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t like he could mention what had happened between them those three long years, and that really wouldn’t explain much either. It had all kind of happened, and Armin had rehashed each scenario so many times none of it seemed to make sense anymore. It was rather embarrassing, but it only proved to him how out of control he could get, and he didn’t want to think about _that_ on top of everything else. There was nothing to say. “I guess not,” he agreed, only to fill the silence.

“So are you two a thing?”

“Why?”

“So I know who I need to interfere with the most when one of you shits gets fucking eaten.”

Armin swallowed. “No, I wouldn’t call us that.” He couldn’t tell if Levi was joking, but the idea of Eren getting eaten by a titan made him sick all over again. He didn’t know if it was actually possible, considering he was next to invincible, but he couldn’t shake the sound of crushing bone and Eren’s blood splattering on him. No. _No._ Never again. “Besides, I wouldn’t let that happen.”

Levi simply snorted and readjusted himself on the chair. “Possibly,” he said low, Armin almost missing it.

“I _won’t_.” That sounded final enough, and he cast Levi a firm frown. He wasn’t going to make him think about things like this. In fact, the only thing he wanted to think about was how his dick was still throbbing and he needed to do something about it.

“You’re really something, you know that?”

Armin slipped a smile. “Why thank you.” He couldn’t help shifting in his bed – thighs pulling together, the miniature jolts that ran up through his stomach, that murky craving to have a dick in his mouth – knowing that was probably the best compliment Levi would be willing to give, considering the circumstances. And his face flushed as he registered the need churning inside him, the smile still on his lips parting into a smirk. “I’m sure you know I’m a lot of ‘something’s,” he mused, a chuckle forming when Levi raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure I do,” Levi agreed with a breath, his shoulder rolling back.

Armin continued. “Do you want to know what else I am?” _‘Stupid,’_ his brain added for him, but the thought evaporated as fast as it had come. Was he really trying to play this game right now?

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

Armin licked his lips, making sure he could analyze every one of Levi’s calculating stares as he tucked some hair behind his ear. He made sure to speak his next words slowly, pushing out each sound with precise movements of his lips. “Really. Fucking. Aroused.” And he didn’t wait for a response, knowing Levi would have a sarcastic retort waiting for him. “And it’s _your_ fault, so you should do something about it.”

Levi didn’t seem ready to give any ground, asking “should I?” as if it were the only logical response, then crossing his legs.

Armin sighed, feigning lost patience; he could afford it. “You’re the one who interrupted us,” he started – and judging by the rolling of Levi’s eyes and the groan he let out, it was a moot point – and shifted his plans mid-thought. “Look, if you don’t want to help, then kindly leave.”

That seemed to perk things up since Levi uncrossed his legs. “You don’t get to command _me_ , cadet.”

“You’re in my quarters s _ir_. I believe I can command you however I wish.” Another grin flourished on his face as Levi clicked his tongue.

“Each of these rooms is fucking mine you little shit,” he said, laced with a diluted venom.

“Sir, this castle belongs to the _entire_ Survey Corps,” Armin objected, lighthearted. Levi was actually looking a little flustered. “But if you want to be technical, I believe the Commander has the rights to claim ownership, correct?”

The chair Levi had been resting in clattered over, him having kicked it after he stood. “Don’t give me that shit Arlert,” he fumed, taking a few steps forward. Armin shied away, the sudden heaviness of his presence intimidating. However, mirth was still swimming in his stomach. Levi had reduced their distance, his next words spoken inches between their mouths. “I’m not in the fucking mood.”

Armin hummed, reckless. “But I am.” And he reached up, cupping Levi’s cheek in one hand before crushing their mouths together, forcing his tongue between teeth. There was no resistance, nothing to tell Armin to stop, so he didn’t, reaching his other arm over Levi’s shoulder and bunching his fingers in the fabric, only pulling his mouth away to fill his lungs and say, “you are going to have to finish what Eren started.” Armin caught Levi’s irritated eye twitch and smiled.

“Only for you, Arlert,” he sighed against his lips, easing their mouths together again.

But Armin didn’t want easy, not right now as he pulled Levi’s bottom lip between his teeth and bared down, drawing a groan from him. He wanted to feel something other than the pain radiating along his legs, the heat of his groin, the pinpricks of fear that still lingered in the back of his mind. Levi’s response was to kiss him harder, drowning him with the heat of his mouth, melting him back into bed, and he heard the jostle of dishes on his lap. He didn’t care, Levi sensible enough to slide the tray down as he encroached into the space, straddling Armin’s hips with apparent ease.

“What do you want,” Levi asked as they separated, voice low.

His hand was in Armin’s hair, and Armin let out a breath. “The desk,” he muttered, planting a trail of kisses along Levi’s jaw, slipping his fingers to the buttons on his shirt.

“Your ankles.”

Armin shook his head. “I don’t care.” There was a shift in Levi’s eyes, from that bored steel-grey to something he would call “light concern”. Armin kissed him again, his fingers bunching at his shirt as he pulled their bodies together. “I want it to hurt,” he whispered, brushing a finger against the cool metal buckle at Levi’s chest.

Levi, however, didn’t speak, tugging away the collar of Armin’s shirt as he planted his lips on his neck, leaving wet trails as he lined down to his collarbone with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. “J-just take it off,” Armin stuttered, feeling his skin flush at the attention. A swift bite was his answer, and he yelped, squirming, the sharp sting already fading into a blotch of angry skin. “Do that again,” he demanded. Levi complied, another squeak and a sigh slipping from Armin’s lips; a breathy “fuck.”

A chuckle drifted to his ears, Levi pulling away again. “Why am I not surprised, Arlert?” he seemed to muse more to himself than expecting an answer.

“Shut up and fuck me,” Armin said, fingers working on the buckle again.

“Bossy little shit.”

Armin couldn’t finish his task, because Levi slid off the bed, scooping him up in his arms without another word. Armin grinned. “Do you like it?” he asked into his ear, brushing his lips against the skin and feeling Levi’s hands tighten around him.

“I don’t dislike it,” Levi stated, sitting Armin on his desk – between all his papers – before gripping the back of his head and pulling him in for another kiss. Armin couldn’t help but moan, Levi taking the chance to roll their tongues together, and he felt it in his hips.

“You locked the door, right?” Armin asked weakly when they broke for air.

“No one will be around.”

“…But, did you lock it?” To be honest, Armin didn’t care. He was too busy spreading his legs so he could reach the buckles around Levi’s hips, too distracted by the hand tangled in his hair and the other pressing into the bruises on his thigh. He didn’t care who would happen to walk in – hell, they could watch if they wanted – so long as Levi didn’t stop.

“No.”

Something sparked along Armin’s spine and he whimpered, pressing his mouth to Levi’s shoulder. “Ahn—touch me already.”

“Patience,” Levi growled, releasing his hold on Armin to shrug off his jacket, his gear soon dropping to the still-fastened straps on his thighs.

“I really don’t have any,” Armin drawled, pulling Levi’s shirt from his pants and working up the buttons again. And with that, Levi slipped from his fingers, stepped back against the chair that still lay on the floor, out of Armin’s reach. “H-hey,” he stuttered, panic rising in his chest.

However, all of Armin’s questions died in the back of his mouth as Levi stripped himself of his shirt and cravat, tossing them towards the bed, and bending slow – the muscles of his back flexing so smoothly – to pick up his jacket. A needy moan slipped from Armin’s mouth instead, and when Levi straightened, he turned on his heel with a smirk to lay his jacket on the arm of the toppled chair. “Are you ready for another lesson,” he asked, husky, shifting his weight, “my little bitch?”

A strangled cry.

Levi took his place back between Armin’s knees, placing a hand in his hair again, Armin desperately touching him. Armin let him tilt his head again, exposing the side of his neck, and Levi sunk his teeth into the already bruising flesh. Armin choked out a wet sound, his body trembling, grabbing the edge of the desk. Levi licked the spot, suckled it, before breathing his next words into his skin. “That wasn’t an answer.”

He didn’t sound too upset, but Armin shuddered anyway, the heat of Levi’s mouth intoxicating. “Yes,” he mumbled, reaching one hand around Levi’s waist to dig his nails into skin.

“Yes _what_?”

The grip on Armin’s hair tightened, pulling his cheek to his shoulder. The muscles in his shoulders flared, Armin biting back a groan before he could speak properly. “More than ready.”

“Then,” Levi ran his other hand down to Armin’s hip, kneading. “You’re going to be good and patient, correct?”

“Hell no.” Armin lead Levi closer, tightening his grip on his waist while looping his other arm around Levi’s back, digging in his fingernails and ignoring the pull on his hair, the mock-irritation in Levi’s chilly eyes. “Fuck no, _never_ ,” he stated, relishing the sudden rush of control he felt, sighing when he felt the long-awaited brush of pelvis against dick.

“No?” Levi quipped, digging his fingers into Armin’s hip. “You’re so disobedient.” Amusement.

“Fuck it out of me,” was his commanding reply, and he felt Levi tense against him, those eyes scanning his face now, searching for something Armin knew he wasn’t going to give. His hand left his hair, and as Armin straightened his neck again, Levi crushed their mouths together, taking his tongue hostage with his teeth and pulling at his hips, pulling at his clothes, gripping his thighs with enough force to bruise.

Armin let out a moan, getting more friction against his groin as Levi – none too gently – pushed him down against the desk, sending a few of the papers to flutter to the floor. Levi didn’t stop kissing him, his teeth scraping taste buds as his fingers yanked and jerked the knot that tied Armin’s pants, and when he seemed to at least loosen it, Armin’s back was arching because Levi’s fingernails were leaving welts with the force he used to remove them, the fabric sliding from both bandaged feet and seeming to disappear. And then he dug in his fingers – like claws – heated skin against wood as he dragged Armin forward.

Thank the Walls Levi had his mouth suffocating his own, because Armin couldn’t keep from moaning, coughing on his own sounds as Levi manhandled him. Armin rubbed rough circles into Levi’s back, torn between rolling his hips up against his or waiting, sparing himself potential punishment. He knew Levi could very well force him to learn a lesson in patience if he wanted. So he kept his hips still, turning out of Levi’s smothering kiss, panting. Levi’s mouth moved to his shoulder, wounding him again, and Armin groaned, low and needy.

Levi hummed into the crook of his neck, mumbling something so low Armin couldn’t understand. And Armin writhed when he let go of his hips, dragging his hands up under his shirt and pinching along his ribs over and over, every little jolt firing right to his cock pressed ever so snugly between them. “L-levi,” Armin whined, finding purchase on the bumps of his spine and burying his fingers between them, earning a grunt and shudder. Armin didn’t have any other words to say, almost passing the point where they made sense to him.

As if he read his mind however, Levi wrapped his fingers under Armin’s ribs and dipped down, his body trailing off the desk as he planted his lips to Armin’s inner thigh, chewing the flesh to his melodic moaning. Armin carded his fingers through his hair, raising his hips to rub his cock against his jaw. “Suck it,” came his breathy command, but Levi denied him, biting at the skin around it. Armin hissed, unable to keep his thighs still as he urged, desperate. “ _Please_.” If he could have used his feet as motivation, he would have.

“Shhh,” Levi hushed, causing Armin to arch his back again; his breath _burned_. “Be patient little one.”

Armin groaned, not interested in his teasing. “Fuck you,” he whined, twisting his grip on Levi’s hair and feeling his toes curl, fire erupting up his ankles. Tears sprang into his eyes just as quickly as he tried to lock a pitched cry in his throat, but it leaked out as a pained whimper, and Levi shifted.

“What’s wrong?” He sounded so concerned, but Armin tried to focus on getting enough air, keeping his eyes firmly shut. “ _Armin_.”

“It’s nothing.” It took him a few more seconds, but Armin shook his head, noting Levi’s frown through his bleary eyes. “I’m fine,” he continued, running a hand from Levi’s hair, down his cheek and to his own aching erection, grasping that in his hand instead. “ _Fuck_ ,” he sighed, just touching himself forcing the not-so-pleasant pain in his feet from his consciousness. “I _need_ this…” And then he cast a gaze down, watching Levi watch him as he set a slow stroking pace, a grin painting itself on his lips. “Are you gonna suck it or not?”

No words, just a hot wet mouth, and Armin was moaning again. His fingers met Levi’s lips, saliva seeping between them, creating a tandem pace that burned Armin to the core. How badly he needed that mouth. And Levi hummed, the vibrations more than enough to make Armin choke on a breath, until he began to suck. Armin’s voice pitched, shaking pants replacing his initial cry.

“Sh-shit,” he whined, raising his hips to force more of himself into Levi’s mouth, but was denied with Levi’s hands on his hips again, the sharp crescents of his short nails still just enough to puncture skin. So he whined again, lifting his thighs up off the surface of the desk, another whirlwind arching his back, and he knew he wouldn’t last long like this. The pace he had set was already erratic, his fingers brushing veins and spit and warmth, Levi’s tongue lapping at the head of his dick over and over and over. “ _S-sir_.” Armin had had every intention to tell Levi to stop, to sit up and demand that he fuck him against the desk until he couldn’t see anymore, but when Levi’s hands scraped across his hips and up his back, teeth dragged down his shaft, it was too late to do anything more than whimper pathetically, the feeling of Levi’s scorching mouth sucking the orgasm out of him too much to fight.

And then Levi pulled away, spitting Armin’s cum onto his heaving stomach. Armin watched him wipe his mouth, tried to focus as Levi moved away, leaving him panting and tingling and just fucking _high_ on the desk. Slowly, Armin realized he wasn’t disgusted by the fact that Levi had spit on him. He let his head roll to the side, recognizing Levi’s hands on his knees, but he didn’t have the energy to respond. At least, not until he felt fingers tracing down the back of his thigh and pressing knuckle-deep into him. “ _Shit, sir!_ ” He squeaked, the fingers foreign and painful, though Levi seemed eager to kiss the pain away once their mouths met again, stifling any more of Armin’s outbursts.

Had time slowed down or had it stopped? Armin couldn’t tell, each thick inhale, every plunge of Levi’s fingers, felt too slow. He could feel his muscles relaxing, and the heat that had been boiling through his hips was barely lingering, though he wondered if it would come back as those fingers continued to play with him, stretch him. Armin continued to wonder until a particularly hasty shove set his body alight again, white hot and yearning. Levi praised him for it, his words unimportant when he said them so weighted and rough. It wasn’t like Armin would have been able to answer anyway – his mouth too slow – when all he could do was rock his hips back against Levi’s hand and hope.

“Now what a good boy,” Levi commended. Armin answered with another wordless whine, missing the fingers pulling out of him. Then Levi kissed him again, entering him in one swift movement of his hips.

Armin cried, actually _cried_ , his body screaming for him to find a way to let out the pressure that had suddenly built up inside him, to push back the thick cock forcing its way inside him, hot and abrasive and painful. But at the same time – as Armin couldn’t breathe with the sensations that were overwhelming him – his hands grabbed Levi’s shoulders, finding resistance in the firm muscle and planting his fingernails deep, the feeling of skin under his nails both welcoming and horrifying.

A mangled mess of sounds dribbled from his lips as Levi’s mouth left them, one hand pushing Armin’s thigh gently to his chest, the other running through the sticky puddle across his stomach and taking his hardening heat. His tears were hot, the sobs shaking his body, but were as silent as Armin could make them, unable to move his hips on his own without losing himself completely. Levi abused him with perfect timing, each down stroke of his hand meeting the upstroke of his hips, leaving Armin to clench his jaw in lieu of sounding like a whore and letting his tears fall in silence. Maybe Levi had asked if he was hurting him. Maybe he had arched his back in another orgasm, stronger than the first. Maybe, just _maybe_ , he wondered if this was more than just sex.

Armin wasn’t sure when Levi had come, exactly, but somewhere between knowing he needed to wipe the tears from his eyes, and hearing Levi complain about the amount of cum on his stomach, Armin gained enough awareness of himself to speak. “I’m sorry,” were his first wavering words, hardly above a whisper.

Levi was leaning his hip against the desk. “I just fucked you into this desk and you’re fucking apologizing again?” He looked more surprised than he sounded, and then he reached out, placing a gentle hand in Armin’s hair. “You’re really something.”

Was he? He couldn’t be sure. He swallowed, tongue still thick in his mouth. He didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t dare sit up just yet, but Levi seemed to be waiting for something. “I’m really not sir,” he concluded, even if he had told him that twice today. Armin wasn’t the least bit sure what he meant by it, but it couldn’t be much.

Still, Levi ruffled his hair before he bent to pick up Armin’s pants, folding them over his arm. Armin didn’t fight him when his laced an arm under his knees, nor did he say anything when his picked him up off the desk, taking those few steps to his bed and sitting him down again. “Thank you,” he said hastily. He took his pants, situating his feet into the hems and paused. There was a distinct lack of cum on his stomach. In fact, there was a lack of any bodily fluids on either of them. “You cleaned up?” Armin hadn’t meant to sound so surprised. Levi responded with a gaze that told him just how idiotic he sounded. “Of course you did,” he muttered, leaning back to pull his pants back over his hips. He elbow smacked his half-eaten bowl of porridge, the entire contents of the tray rattling.

“Careful.”

Armin reached out to still the mug, it being the most dangerous. “Oh.” He had forgotten Eren had brought him tea, but the idea of the still-warm beverage wasn’t appealing. However, he took it in his hands, feeling the warmth seep from the thick ceramic. Armin looked to Levi, knowing his preference for the drink, and saw him picking up the papers they had knocked from the desk. He also noticed a wet rag dangling off the edge of his water basin. Of course. The least he could do was give such a clean freak something to drink. “Do you,” he started, feeling rather embarrassed for some illogical reason, “want my tea? It’s still warm.”

Levi turned to him, looking him up and down.

“I didn’t even drink it I just-“ Armin’s face was flushing, the words tumbling. And then the mug was lifted out of his hands.

“Thanks,” Levi interrupted, his shirt already on his shoulders. Armin didn’t look at him, something fluttering in his stomach and he hated it.

“No problem.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Brownie for giving me the idea of "drama queen Armin" because that's a thing and I aim to add superfluous amounts of drama everywhere.

This was what it felt like to be used. This had to be it, this constricting in his chest. It couldn’t be anything else, and it was his own fault, because he had agreed to be the Corporal’s plaything. He had started this by accident, sure, but he was the one always crawling back, sneaking in a suggestive glance or showing up unannounced. But now he felt _used_ , the sudden regret that filled his heart aching and swallowing him whole. Why did he _do_ this? Why did he agree to become his _toy_? Why did he have these odd feelings for him, _now_ of all times? Why was it that he stuttered out of embarrassment instead of fear when they talked, and why did he feel so warm in his presence? Why did his hands shake, all his control slipping away? It didn’t feel like a _job_ anymore. Somewhere inside, Armin was terrified that he could have fallen in love.

Which, if any, of these thoughts rang true Armin didn’t know. Levi had left, Hanji had checked him over days ago – but there were still a few days left in his “no maneuvering” timeline – and Armin didn’t know what to do with himself now that walking was a necessary, but painful, chore, and there was nothing for him to do. Hanji had been leading large groups out for training since Levi left with the Commander two days ago, strictly telling him to “get some rest, you’ll need it” as if that would somehow help. Armin was _bored_ , and nothing but putting himself to work was going to fix that. Erwin had taken his finalized plans and reports and requests with him, and without those to focus on, the only thing left was reading – every book he had _again_? No thanks – and ruminating over the fragility of his life.

Armin didn’t exactly want to do that anymore.

So, he stood in the stables, leaning his weight off his left foot since it was burning up in his boot, keeping his arms crossed. “What are you doing Arlert,” he whispered to himself. Of the horses that were left, none of them paid him much heed; he just stood, feeling the humid breeze blow through him, smelling hay and shit and dirt, feeling more at ease here with the sun against his back than he had in his room; everywhere he had looked there he could see Levi’s handiwork. Every spine of every one of his books arranged in a straight line, the papers in his desk – well, some of them – stacked and sorted and grouped, not a spot of fucking dirt to be seen and for _fuck’s sake_ why did he have this warm feeling in his stomach like it _meant_ something? _‘It doesn’t mean a damn thing,’_ he told himself, gripping his elbows in his hands and letting his feet start moving.

The soreness brought him back, letting him breathe a little easier before he worked himself up again. He had already thought himself into a circle this morning, and winding his thoughts on the same spool wouldn’t be fruitful. _‘And yet here I am again,’_ he thought, pacing up and down the stables with only Levi in his head. They hadn’t talked since that mistake in his bedroom – and Armin would never classify it as anything but – and somehow nothing felt right about it. Of course, that was why it was a _mistake_.

Armin wanted to blame Eren, to blame those lips that he hadn’t felt so firm against his in what felt like forever. He wanted to blame Levi – what a sick _freak_ , willing to fuck a _child_ – but really, he could only blame himself. Living this life, inhabiting a place of constant fear, had worn on him. If he didn’t join the trainee corps and hope for some kind of future, Armin already knew he’d be dead. He saw the looks that passersby had given him when he was little – ‘what a tiny child,’ they said; ‘he looks just like a girl,’ they said – and the sense of unease wasn’t unwarranted; it wasn’t like Armin could forget the amount of times he had gone home with a bleeding lip, a swollen ankle, a bloodied hand. He knew his weaknesses, and he knew he could use them just as well as his strengths. And in the end, it was those weaknesses that had ended everything between Eren and him, and it was those weaknesses that drove him to cling to the Corporal as if he were his savior, his last hope. Maybe he was. What had he said again?

_“You’re really something, aren’t you?”_

That’s right. He had said that their first time, almost to the level of frequency now, and Armin still didn’t understand why. “Really…something,” he muttered, turning on his heel again. What could that mean, or rather, why was he so hung up on it? Why couldn’t he just let it go?

Continuing to pace, Armin sighed, dropping his arms and running a hand through his hair. He didn’t have time to be acting like a child; it had only been two days since Levi left and he acted like something had been stripped from him. Levi wasn’t _his_ , Armin couldn’t _own_ him, and that wasn’t what their deal had been. Well, there wasn’t technically a deal to begin with – secrets, but not deals; no words had been exchanged on the matter – and yet here he was, pacing the stables in the broad daylight like some…Armin sighed again.

The sound of footsteps drifted to his ears. “Um, excuse me?”

Armin turned, coming face to face with someone he couldn’t say he explicitly knew. If he hadn’t been so busy cursing himself for letting someone, anyone, sneak up on him, he would have offered the other boy a proper, polite response. Instead, he folded his arms around himself and took a deliberate step back.

The boy looked nervous, words spilling from his quick lips. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-to frighten you.” Frighten. “I uh, you’re Arlert right? The one in that accident last week. I-I mean wow I’m glad you’re okay and everything and-“ He was rambling. Really rambling. But then he paused, taking a slow breath, and Armin realized the boy was taller than him. It could have only been by an inch, but Armin found himself glancing ever-so-slightly up to catch the other boys autumn eyes. “I’m sorry,” he started again, speaking with a kind of calm Armin wished he could inhale. “My name’s Diederich. Aah, Gottlieb. Diederich Gottlieb.”

Armin smiled – reflex – and shook his outstretched hand. “You’re right, I’m Arlert. Armin Arlert.” But the pleasantries were a farce; something about him made Armin feel ill at ease. Was it the wide stance he took, or was it that his hands were bigger than his own? Diederich didn’t look like he could overpower him, and yet, something in the way his fingers flexed against Armin’s palm and the quirk between his lips, almost screamed at the very least, ferocity. The more he stood and thought – not listening to Diederich continue to speak at him – the more he felt like he was looking at another version of Eren. Their eyes had the same intensity – though Armin was always first to admit that Eren would forever contain more passion within his pinky finger than the Survey Corps combined – and even though his hair was long enough to pull into a short ponytail, and his fringe seemed determined to overtake his face – meaning he didn’t look the least bit violent – Armin could feel his shoulders sting when Diederich’s gaze caught his own. Just like Eren’s.

“—thinking that, pretty much since we saw you.” Armin blinked, suddenly aware that Diederich had stopped talking, had wrapped his arms around his chest and seemed to be waiting. When Armin didn’t answer, a smile lit up his face. “You don’t have to decide now. We can talk about it later.” And suddenly he seemed rushed, giving Armin a pat on the back before he near sprinted around the stables, out of sight. Armin blinked again. _‘What just happened?’_

Thoughts rattled, he couldn’t think anymore. He had no idea what Diederich was expecting of him now, and even worse, he didn’t know where to find him. In fact, he was almost sure he had never seen the boy in his life; but that didn’t make sense. _‘It’s impossible that I’ve never seen him,’_ he mused, leaving his pace marks in the dirt and striding towards the small gardens. Even though it had started to chill at night, the flowers were still blooming. _‘He must be new. Maybe one of the unlucky ones the Commander picked up.’_ Where they really unlucky? He had heard stories of the slums, and military life didn’t sound much too bad in comparison. _‘Then again, I’ve never lived down there, underground like that.’_ Still, he couldn’t place the face, or even the sound of his voice. He could recall most of the faces he had glanced at last week, last month, his own private survey of new recruits – and he used the term “recruit” loosely – where had Diederich been within them?

He said something, had said “we” while he had been chatting. Who was “we”?

A curse forced itself from under Armin’s breath. He should have been paying attention. It wasn’t like him to space out during conversations, and there he had been, thinking of _Eren_ of all people. How much more irresponsible could he be? Eren was busy, safe, training with Hanji and the others. Diederich had looked pretty clean, alert, not like he had been training for hours or had injured himself and come back early. Why was he even here? Armin shook his head, hoping it would clear out the thoughts. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t possibly matter because Deiderich seemed nice enough, and if he had been dumb enough not to listen to him speak in the first place then whatever consequences came from it were his own damn fault. He huffed, frustrated.

The flowers before him swayed with an errant breeze, but Armin frowned. He needed something to do, he needed to find somewhere to sit and read. There was an old library in the castle, dusty and mistreated, and to be honest, a place Armin didn’t frequent. It was small, and for whatever reason it gave him mild claustrophobia, something he used to have no experience with. But for now, right now, as he made his way back inside, roaming the empty halls with only his echoing footsteps to keep him company, he wanted to risk it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know I know it's so short and everyone has been waiting for so long! But this is just what needed to happen, and I'm hoping the next chapter will make up for it. Please don't be mad at my OC, he kind of just BEAT HIS WAY IN but I do have a purpose for him so...  
> Besides that, if any of you don't know, you can find me on [tumblr](http://bloodmilkku.tumblr.com/)! Though, I'm not really a fandom blog so don't expect many snk posts from me, if you decide you want to follow me.  
> I'm off to Wizard World tomorrow, so maybe all the sweaty fanboys can give me some kind of inspiration?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th you brats.

The heavy book thumped closed, another burst of dust and mold and dirt jumping from the pages, mingling in the air and making it that much harder to breathe. Light still filtered from the library’s dirt-clouded windows, but it didn’t alleviate the feeling of the burdened bookshelves leaning further over him, of the table reaching out and engulfing what little empty space was left, the knowledge that the open door was out of view and an unknown number of serpentine-steps away. His body shook through a shudder, fingers dusting then gripping the edge of the worn-smooth wood, and Armin stood. Slipping a foot around the leg of his chair, he slid his way out, twisting around the edge of the table and leaving the large tome in its place. His fingers prickled with want to trace along the spine, to push the book back into place among the others, but his feet were guiding him to the door, and his tight chest was telling him to get out.

So he got out, thinking.

_' **DOG** , _noun._ A kind of additional or subsidiary Deity designed to catch the overflow and surplus of the world's worship.'_

The urge to shake the thought away caressed him.

He hadn't spent much time in the small library after all. The castle halls were still a little stuffy, and the sun was still soaking the walls. Words were dancing in his head, cluttering the thoughts that tried to form, breaking them. He didn't want to think about the words that had caught his eye. The stupid books. He didn't want to ruminate about any potential meanings to anything he had read. _'Don't overthink this. Don't. Please don't.'_

He should have never picked up the book – its thick fiber pages tempting him – and read those stupid sentences, spent those minutes closing in on an hour. Why? What a waste of time. This had nothing to do with Levi, no. Nope. Never. It was getting closer to dinner-time, and he was hungry, that's all. The hunger that was conveniently absent at the moment was the cause of this chaos. Not that maybe he really was useless, that these running thoughts about the Corporal were deeper than he could ever admit. No, he was a dog, _the Corporal's dog_ , and the bruises that were fading around his neck proved it. He was supposed to be used, so why was he so upset? _'I'm just a toy,'_ he reminded himself. _'A vessel for anything Le—the Corporal will give me.'_

His footsteps echoed lonely across the messy cobblestone of the lower floors to the carefully lain patterns of the upper floors. There was no one around, he was alone again.And he liked it that way, and was much more grateful with the realization when his feet led him to the Corporal's closed chamber door. He stared at the wood grain, following the patterned rings and lines of years of outward growth, stained and shaped and killed to be molded into this heft that looked like it may splinter if he gazed too hard.

Then there was a sound. Shuffling.

_' **GHOST** , _noun._ The outward and visible sign of an inward fear.'_

Armin shook his head, taking a step back. Now was not the time to be thinking like that, but the sound bounced the barren walls, and he felt uneasy just standing dumbfounded at the door of the absent Corporal as if he may, somehow, let him in. His feet are the first to recognize the anxiety, setting off in a rapid pace anywhere else but there, through the hallways and down the stone stairs, back to the unfamiliar windows and crevices before reason came back to him. Where was he going? Why was he scared? No one would bother to question him wandering the hallways; everyone knew he was still bound to the ground – he heard from Eren only yesterday that he had been the topic of discussion at quite a few meals – so how unusual _really_ would it be for him to be found in various boring places around the headquarters? Not at all. No one would mention it. He wasn't important enough for anyone to even remember he was there.

But the knot in his chest lingered, and he contemplated going back to his room when he heard footsteps rounding the corner and Jean stalled before him, looking like he might just turn around and run. But then he seemed to change his mind, not taking another step but opening his mouth to say, “Armin!”

“Jean,” he replied, tilting his head and hoping to just pass the other boy and keep the silence.

“Um hey, wait a sec,” Jean fumbled as he took a few steps forward, successfully stopping Armin in his tracks. He looked nervous, something he didn't often look in front of anyone as of late, but then again it had barely been a week since... “How—how are you?”

“Feeling much better, thanks for asking.” Even though the response was pleasant, a particular flavor of vomit seeped in the back of his throat. Grinding his heels into his boots, a forced smile parted his lips. Jean nodded but didn't make any move to leave.

“I uh—” he started, looking everywhere but in Armin's face, before his sigh lingered in the air. “I know I haven't seen you around lately, and that's good. I mean, _it's good_ you feel better. Um, fuck, I'm sorry I didn't come see you before now.”

“Jean.”

“I've just been really _busy_ with so much _shit_ to do, and all these new _fucks_ around, and the _horses_ and—”

“Jean, _Jean_!”

“What?!”

A soft snort filtered out, arresting the last of Jean's words as Armin smiled. More convincing this time. He had to keep up the pleasant face, he didn't want an apology from him. “It's fine, I understand.” He didn't really, only because he had never thought Jean had cared enough to _want_ to visit. Then again, with Marco gone, who did he have left to turn to? Sure, he considered himself Jean's friend, and when they had the chance they would kill time together, but they were understandably busy, and an apology was unnecessary. Or rather, Armin didn't need to hear someone else feeling guilty because of him.

Jean shuffled his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets, a laugh tinged with nerves dropping from his mouth. “Do you?” he started before glancing down at his feet. And Armin would have answered, but Jean opened his mouth again. “Sorry, _sorry_ , that was dumb.” Then he looked up, that fear that brushed his eyes now gone. “Actually uh, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?” Armin shifted back, waiting.

“Yea, well, there's this kid,” Jean looked down again, something like a blush passing over his cheeks. “And uh...” silence filled the space between them. Curiosity peeked, but Armin didn't want to pry. Jean looked as if he was having trouble speaking – his mouth moving slowly, and his hand wrapping around the back of his neck – and disturbing him would probably stall his explanation. Instead, Armin took a silent breath and prayed for patience. He really wanted to go back to his room before dinner. “Do you,” Jean turned to look at him again. “You know Diederich? And that firecracker, I think, Mabel?”

Armin didn't hear anything else. _Diederich_. A chill ran through him, and he shook his head, disregarding Jean still speaking. His words tumbled from his mouth before he could think of anything better. “Jean, can we not talk about him please.”

_' **GUILT** , _noun._ The condition of one who is known to have committed an indiscretion, as distinguished from the state of him who has covered his tracks.'_

Jean wouldn't understand, didn't even seem able to understand, as his mouth snapped shut with confusion between his brows. Of course Armin couldn't try to explain the vague feeling of dread he got when Deiderich was around. He knew he wouldn't be able to put into words the subtle threat that was in his eyes. Sure, Jean knew he was smart, but his feelings towards the boy he barely knew were in fact, very stupid.

“Oh—okay,” Jean murmured.

“I'm sorry I just...”

“No no,” he interrupted, throwing out his hands. “It's okay I mean, whatever. Don't worry about it, I was out of line.” And then he rushed off, stalking down the hallway and around the other corner before Armin could think of a proper reply. Jean was gone. He had looked...disappointed.

That look haunted him to his room, in his bed, as he laid on his side trying to blink away the pain in his stomach. He was nauseous. Kind of. Armin couldn’t say he was anything with any amount of certainty; he didn’t know anymore.

Eren found him in his room for dinner as the sun was finally setting. Armin wanted to object, to deny the hunger in his gut, but Eren seemed ever-stubborn and refused to let him miss another meal. He seemed to be hiding a blush as well, not quite meeting Armin’s gaze as he led him – hand in hand of course – down to the large hall, Mikasa waiting at the towering wooden doors. The smell of food hit him like that tree he had hurdled into. He wasn’t so hungry anymore.

“How are you feeling,” she asked, stepping up to his free side and walking alongside. “We didn’t mean to leave you alone so long, just…”

“I know,” Armin interrupted. _‘Not another apology, please.’_ Sighing, he turned to her with a strained smile. “Training. I understand, really.” Eren’s hand tightened around his own. And he _did_ understand; why did everyone feel it was necessary to apologize to him about it? Their lives weren’t in their control, of course. Armin had even ceased to feel bad about being too busy – or too tired, or too sick, or too angry – to kiss Eren when he wanted to years ago. There used to be a mutual understanding that their duties came first and yet…

Eren’s grip tugged him out of his rant. Connie was coming up to their left, eager expression on his face. If Armin hadn’t felt so antisocial, he would have been glad to see him. How long had it been?

“Hey!” he shouted over the remaining feet of distance, throwing his arms up into the air. Armin cast him a faint smile. “Haven’t seen you around these parts in a while huh?” he continued, meandering around a table to walk with them, albeit backwards.

A dry chuckle jumped from Armin’s lips. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He sounded like he was pleading.

“Don’t worry about it man,” Connie complied, pummeling a well-meant fist into Armin’s shoulder, an involuntary flinch tingling through him. Connie still seemed unable to understand his own strength; it was both heart-warming and disappointing. How could he be so _normal_ after all that had happened? Wasn’t he suffering _at all_? But Armin knew that was a terrible train of thought. _‘Everyone grieves on their own terms,’_ he told himself, rubbing his shoulder as he thanked his friend. “We know it’s been rough on you and all. I mean, you were the one closest to—“ Connie stopped, stuttered then laughed. “Uh, h-how’re your feet? It’s good to see you walking,” he stumbled, his words softer now, as he caught himself from backing into the large table behind him.

“Better,” Armin answered, casting a side-long glance at Eren, then Mikasa, then Eren again, distracted. Mikasa’s gaze hadn’t changed, but Eren looked a little heated. “I still have a few days until Hanji will let me back in gear.” He couldn’t help himself running a thumb over Eren’s knuckles, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. At least, he hoped it was comforting. Eren didn’t seem to notice.

And then Armin’s steps faltered. His breath locked itself in his lungs. His vision was on the verge of tunneling. Eren twisted him around, both hands heavy on his shoulders. He felt like he was watching himself, seeing Mikasa stop and turn towards him, Connie’s tighter grip on the edge of the table. Was he breathing? Who was the shaking blond? “Armin?” Oh, right.

Eren’s voice was gritty like sand in his ears. When had he gotten so far away? The air was thicker here, darker. That scent of pollen and bitter, old blood. “ _Armin_.”

Armin shuddered, pulling his hands – that felt like boiling lead – up to his face. Covered it. He didn’t want to see the blood dripping from Eren’s face. Not again. He pushed his palms into his eyes, taking slow, calculated breaths. “I’m fine,” he whispered, the feeling melting away like a trail of ice. Those severed limbs. They were in his mouth. And his dropped his hands, fluid, tilting his head over his shoulder.

Hair. Dark. Those searching eyes.

 _Deiderich_.

He swallowed hard, turning back to Eren’s broken expression. “I’m okay, sorry,” he apologized, now that he felt his own skin encasing him. “I just,” he closed his eyes, “felt a little lightheaded,” he lied.

“It’s because you’re not eating,” Eren warned, though empty. He sounded just as hopeless as he had back then.

Armin couldn’t reply. Eren’s hands fell to his sides, but Mikasa’s replaced them for a fleeting moment. An offer of comfort. Then she was next to Eren, and Armin didn’t miss her fingers going to his. But Armin still wobbled on his feet, and Eren was quick to grasp his hand again. He didn’t ask. Armin couldn’t even look at him. Instead, he let his body drift, turning to Connie who looked between the three of them with a tenseness in his blank stare. Then he smiled, half-hearted, before saying, “how about we get some food.”

This was so embarrassing. Armin let Eren lead him again, keeping his eyes fixed on either his boots or his plate of food. _‘Don’t look up, don’t look at him, don’t look up.’_ Though, if he closed his eyes for too long, his stewed meat and various vegetables looked more and more like the flesh still warm between those titan’s teeth. He couldn’t get away. The smell, the noises. The wet slaps of meat on enamel, the rubbery globs of drying blood. He ran a hand through his hair, groaning to himself. Eren shifted on his right.

“You should eat, Armin,” he spoke low, pressing their shoulders together.

“I know.” But he looked at his food, and then up at all the still-familiar faces of the dinner table, and he could feel them all looking back at him, concerned, pitying him. He couldn’t… He didn’t want… What were they… Still, Armin picked up his fork for the third time, and he saw Eren watching from the corner of his eye, and he stabbed a carrot and scraped it into his mouth with his teeth. It was soft, warm, as salty as skin.

He wasn’t going to swallow it, he couldn’t. He couldn’t even chew it. But Eren was watching, and his thigh was pressed against Armin’s trembling own, and he knew that if he didn’t eat it then no one was going to stop looking at him, stop judging his worth on his ability to eat a simple meal. But it wasn’t the meal — _it wasn’t_ — it was the taste, the texture, the wetness in his mouth, the feeling in his teeth. It was that it reminded him of Eren, and it was that the reminder made him wonder again. He didn’t want to wonder.

“You can do this,” Mikasa encouraged from his left, and Armin nodded, swallowing.

 _‘ **LONGEVITY** , _ _noun._ _Uncommon extension of the fear of death.’_

“And Hanji started _yelling_ ‘if you go any more backwards you’re gonna get eaten through a titan’s ass!’ and I swear I saw him start _crying_!” Sasha was laughing.

“ _Right?_ ” Connie chimed in. “I’m pretty sure we’re gonna hear about Hanji’s new theory about titan digestion evolution or something because of that.” He sounded quite disgusted.

“Geeze, you know they only got stomachs.” That was Jean, at the end of the table. His voice sounded strained.

“Shut up horseface, I know that! You know how the Squad Leader is…”

It all faded to silence; his ears were clogged with it, all the chatter. Armin wanted to contribute, to say something like he used to, but he hadn’t left the castle grounds in a week, taking care of whatever chores Hanji would leave him with before everyone else headed out to train. Day after day of being utterly alone – or, alone enough – left him with nothing to say. Except Diederich. A scowl tried to crawl its way up until Armin smothered it with another carrot. His second carrot. This one was undercooked and crunched between his teeth.

Like bone.

“Hey, just breathe ok? You’re fine, it’s fine.” Eren’s voice. He had leaned over at some point. “Everything’s ok Armin,” he placated, an errant hand rubbing his back through his shirt.

Armin would have believed him but, “I didn’t know you missed your boyfriend _that_ much Jaeger!” carried Jean’s voice. That was all Eren needed to turn his attentions, and in seconds they were yelling at each other. Armin just gave Eren some room and looked back at his food, sighing. He listened to them argue, neither saying anything of substance like usual, and an ease of nostalgia washed over him. Jean was still alive. Eren too. Most of the 104 th. It was almost like they were thirteen again, back in the mess at the barracks and being reckless children.

No, they still _were_ reckless children.

His fork clattered against his plate. _‘Fuck this. Why am I even here? I’m going to bed.’_ And he had every intention to make true those thoughts, shifting to push away from the table, but Mikasa wrapped a careful hand around his wrist. She didn’t speak, only looked at him like an expectant mother would, and Armin knew then that he was being childish. _‘But,’_ he thought, a slew of curses rushing against his lips as her fingers made him cringe, yet he picked up his fork again. _‘Stop being a baby, Arlert,’_ he sighed to himself, scooping up bits of meat and shoveling them into his mouth. Mikasa held his hand in hers for two more bites, and then – satisfied? – she turned back to her own food. Armin didn’t know why he was being so difficult, making his friends, what was left of his _family_ , worry over him like a toddler. He had to get himself together. His food wasn’t going to kill him, nor was it going to ruin the rusting steel trap that was his resolve. He wasn’t going to be like that again. He didn’t want to see the fear in Eren’s eyes again, not like that, not because of him.

So he didn’t think as he ate, tried to be sociable as Eren stemmed his anger while Jean finally shut the fuck up, and he even smiled at Krista and Ymir when they walked past and offered some words of comfort. Maybe he’d remember them, maybe he wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter now. He had to get through this; Armin Arlert was not weak. He wasn’t going to be bested by his emotions, not now, not when that titan massacre was drifting farther and farther from his memory – was it? – and he could barely remember most of his trainee days – really? – and he wasn’t eager to kiss and sleep with Eren any longer – yeah right – and lastly, when he needed to be able to look Diederich in the eye and not falter. It didn’t make any sense, and Armin wanted to make sense of it, but he had to gather himself first, had to find all those pieces he knew were missing long ago. He needed them now; how could he do it?

“Armin, you alright?” Eren’s voice again. He looked up, finding a smile in his eyes again. Thank god. His heart fluttered; he missed those. “You’ve been starring for a while.”

Sounds left his mouth, but he couldn’t form a complete sentence. His meal was mostly eaten – good – and Armin just nodded. “Yeah,” he tried again. “Just thinking.”

It wasn’t until he was standing in the kitchen, washing up his dishes with Eren behind him that he realized something. Something he didn’t realize he could have felt. He was lonely. Completely, utterly, desperately lonely. Armin let his hands in the sink, pruning under the soapy water, as he systematically took apart the feeling. He wasn’t alone, not with Eren and Mikasa always thinking and taking care of him. And even though he had limited contact with everyone as of late, he had never felt the coolness pooling in his stomach, the hollowness in his chest, until now.

He turned, watching Eren stack his plate with the others, and he shifted to see Mikasa drying the flatware. She looked up to him, and he turned his gaze back to the sink, moving his hands again to at least look like he was trying. The lamps burned dull, orange and acrid smelling. The ones in Levi’s room didn’t smell this bad.

Levi. He had been gone two entire days. Why…did that matter? But the pang in his chest was verification enough. _‘I miss him,’_ he thought, rinsing the late plate and shaking the suds from his fingers. _‘I miss him and I don’t want to. I don’t want this pain in my chest because of him.’_ But that wasn’t it. Not all of it. He didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to sink his teeth into flesh and tear out chunks of him too. Armin would tear him apart if he could – and he knew he could – and if he ruined Humanity’s Strongest, what would be left for them?

It had all been a terrible, terrible mistake. The sex. _Why?_

Footsteps rang in his ears, as if he needed more things to think about. But Hanji burst through the doors, looking positively elated before standing in the middle of the kitchen, surveying all three of them. Armin was the last to give a sub-par salute, but the expression on Hanji’s face didn’t change. “Armin! Great news!”

Was he supposed to speak? Hanji looked at him expectantly, then seemed to think better of it. “Actually, great news for all of you! Commander Erwin and Corporal Levi are coming back from Sina a day early. Apparently they overstayed their welcome.” A low chuckle. “In any sorts, Armin, they’re gonna wanna meet with you sometime tomorrow, so be on your toes.”

Armin could only nod, letting the information wash over him.

Eren was next. “And you!” He backed away, one step, but Hanji only grabbed at his hands. “I have some plans for you!” Eren swallowed, looking over to him for what was probably help, but Armin couldn’t move, let alone speak. “Don’t you worry Eren, you’ll be in good hands as always!”

Hanji continued to talk. Eren continued to look more and more concerned. Armin felt that coolness in his bowels turn to ice. Levi was coming back. He would see him again, that fucking scowl. But he wanted to talk to him? That meant…another expedition. Titans. Did the Commander tell the officers in Sina what they had seen? Did they tell them… A shudder shook him. No, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the Commander may have gotten his plans approved, which meant a tactical meeting tomorrow, which meant discussing the supply line once again, which meant…titans. More titans. Why did it have to be _titans_?

“Oh, and Armin,” Hanji called. “You’re on breakfast duty with Deiderich and Reiner tomorrow.”

Armin could have cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions curiosity of The Devil's Dictionary.  
> Sorry for taking half a year to get this out. Stuff is happening. I dunno if you can see it, but it's happening. I'm kinda excited.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i took 8 years to write this chapter; i'm so sorry. life got hard, but here i am updating again! i'm hoping to get back on a roll and grind out some more chapters but we'll see. have fun reading this bullshit cuz i know i sure do

If there was anything Armin hated more than waking up before the break of dawn to dress himself and shuffle down into the kitchen with half-lidded eyes, it was to wake up on time and skid into the kitchens with Reiner and Diederich waiting on him. It could have been anyone else, anyone but Diederich. But Armin grinned because he knew he had to bear it, greeting them both with a raspy “good morning” and a yawn.

“Didn't sleep much?” Reiner asked, his voice echoing the small room. Armin only groaned. No, no he really hadn't. Sleep wouldn't come to him between the aches in his bones, the shrieks in his head, and the knowledge that he had to face the one person he had an irrational fear of and another who sent him into fits of anxiety and arousement. Not today. So he got to work. It was still too early, the sun casting weak rays of light through the windows. Someone obviously had been slacking on their cleaning duties, as they were covered with streaks. He made a mental note to clean them after breakfast if he could remember. Reiner's voice then broke through his thoughts. “Armin, you got a handle on the oatmeal, right?”

“Mmhm.” The pot clattered as he placed it on the hot metal of the stove. Considering its size, he bent and tossed a few more chunks of wood into the open door. The already burning wood cracked with a plume of smoke and embers; Armin shut it.

A chuckle from Reiner. “Great. D, can you hold this for me?” Footsteps. Chatter. The clink of utensils.

Armin closed his eyes, intent of finding the metal tin of dry oats instead of listening to his comrades. Well, comrade. Turning on his heel, he stepped closer to the line of shelves mounted to the wall, scanning the containers as if they were labeled and he could see through them to the contents. The names had rubbed off in thick smears again, fingerprints of black scattered on each surface. He sighed to himself, resorting to systematically choosing, shaking and opening each container. This could have been so much easier. Why couldn't someone simply rewrite the contents on the lid? At least then there would be less of a chance for them to rub off. It was only logical. With sore fingers the first lid finally popped. A sigh. 

Rice.

Two canisters more and Armin found the oats, staring into the large tin to find it almost half empty. Great. Rations of course had been in effect ever since the Commander gathered up his surplus of off-season recruits, but this was a little too far. He'd have to thin it. Three years ago he had always thought the just-enough meals were a large disappointment – weren't soldiers well-fed? - but he'd soon realized that they had no choice but to make do, and it was better than trying to fend for himself within the Walls. The Survey Corps lived in a perpetual shortage of funds, supplies, and sometimes even basic necessities; making do was what he was best at.

Right, the oatmeal. The large pot sent off tendrils of smoke, unable to make progress with breakfast considering there was no water in it; this was the way Armin liked it. “Armin!”

Fuck.

“W-what” he stuttered, his skin tingling, “Reiner?”

“You trying to burn the place down or what?” The question came tinted with curiosity.

“Of course not,” Armin answered, sure not to face him as he scrambled to measure out bowlfuls of oats and dumping them into the hot vessel. “I had to find the oats. The names are gone again.” He turned this time, a half smile painted on, and Reiner reacted preferably. He had a few choice words on the lack of labels as well, bemoaned the general inconvenience of things, and went back to cracking eggs. What a luxury. And Diederich, he was stirring something in a large bowl. Fine. So long as he left him alone. Even from behind, Armin was sure he was somehow looking at him.

He turned back to his pot, stirring the toasting grains. The nutty smell of cooking oats didn't do much for his appetite, instead, the memory of his grandfather cooking him a creamy bowl of this stuff for him bringing a faint smile to his face. His heart twisted; he missed him so much. 'Water,' he thought. With the metal being so hot, it didn't take long for it to boil. He covered it, rubbed his face and steeled himself. “Do you guys need anything?”

“Nah,” Diederich spoke, looking over his shoulder to give Armin a toothy smile. “We got this, right?” He nudged Reiner with his elbow, another crooked smile on his lips.

“Yeah, I think we're good.”

What a relief. “Okay, good. The stove is open for a bit so, I'm going to clean the windows.” And he did, listening to the eggs cook in the pan on the stove as the oatmeal boiled. Anything to keep from looking Diederich in the face. And yet, Diederich was mostly silent, taking care of his own business with Reiner and being all around pleasant. Even though he didn't want to be surprised, for some reason he had expected something less savory. The uneasy feeling lessened, but even with him not talking, Armin knew he had to be planning, calculating like himself. But what was it? Why was he so hooked on this boy?

He dropped his rags in the bucket, the water sloshing at his feet but not spilling. The windows looked marginally better, and he was thankful he didn't have to sweep the entire kitchen floor. Reiner was laughing. Diederich too. It felt odd, almost cold, as he watched them from behind. Even though Reiner dwarfed Diederich – like he did with most people – his wide stance looked harmless next to him. It was as if Diederich held some secret strength, his only tell an aura that surrounded him. But he was so friendly! Armin shook his head, bending down and picking up his bucket. He emptied it outside, the sudsy water channeling trails through the dirt. A gush of fresh air swept through the open door. Early morning dew. Armin yawned again.

“Hey Arlert! I think the slop is done!” Reiner's laugh echoed through the halls.

In the end, breakfast duty proved itself to be uneventful. At least to Armin's current standards. Reiner may have almost burned himself on the heavy stock pot as he carried it out into the dining hall, but that wasn't unusual. The hall had filled up fast as the sun breached over the trees, and their chatter could be heard echoing the castle. Hopefully he had made enough food; breakfast was always rowdy – especially if Eren was up – but he knew what it felt like to run out of food before everyone had made it downstairs. He had done it more than once. Though, it was usually the fault of poor Sasha being on duty and helping herself before she could even finish cooking.

Having been lost in thought – yet again – he didn't notice Reiner had returned and gathered up all the bowls and spoons until he looked up from washing his last bowl and found them all missing from their resting place on the counter. Realization shot through him: he was alone. With Diederich. “Armin?” Speak of the devil. Panic fluttered in his chest – a bird in a cage - but he swallowed it down, hands wringing his clothe under the cover of bubbles. Calm down, calm down. He can't hurt you.

“Yes?” he asked, relieved that his voice didn't waver. Diederich appeared in his peripheral, but Armin made sure not to look up, washing and rewashing and doing his best to look busy. But he still felt eyes on him.

“Pretty dirty, huh?” A chuckle. Armin hesitated.

“Uh, hah, yeah I guess it is.” Fuck. Shit. Fuck. He felt on fire, the light-headedness of complete panic burning through him. Armin turned on the faucet – his hands were shaking weren't they? - rinsed the bowl, reached for the plug in the murky water. Diederich stepped closer – probably wondering why he wasn't talking like a decent human being - but his presence suffocated him. Armin willed himself away, his body tilting as far from the other boy as possible; he tugged the chain, popping the rubber from the drain, and the water swirled. The silence was unnerving, his stomach churning and rumbling, the bowl in his hands shaking, and it was all so embarrassing. He was being irrational, ignoring someone who may end up saving his life one day. He could at least be amicable. But he couldn't, the words dried up in his mouth. So he didn't look up as he rinsed the bowl – again, he realized later – and suddenly a hand was placed over his own. Armin lurched away, the bowl shattering against the floor, his feet moved backwards, over themselves, and the room tilted upside-down.

“Shit, are you okay?”

How could he answer. This was, this was bullshit. “Y-yeah,” he muttered, bolting up coming inches too close to ramming foreheads with Diederich as he kneeled over him. “Oh God, I'm sorry,” Armin continued, feeling his face ignite. Why was he apologizing? What the hell even; why was he so jumpy?

“I didn't mean-” bled Diederich's voice, concern drifting in waves.

“No no, I mean, I'm just-”

“Here,” Diederich offered his hand, dripping wet. “Lemme help you up.”

What. What? Armin took his hand – as if it were the only possible option - let his body be hefted to its feet. His hand was firm, similar to the Commander's handshake, but he didn't let go. Armin fumbled on his toes before he steadied, saying “thanks-” in the hope of ending the skin-on-skin contact, but as he looked up into those strange brown eyes again, he felt ill. Really ill. The brown in Diederich's eyes splotched blood-red, seeped and overtook his irises, spreading, weaving, covering his face completely, blood oozing from his mouth. 

Armin was throwing up, curled over the sink and vomiting as if his stomach wanted to come out as well. There wasn't anything, there never was, but his head was ringing again and the screaming was back. He didn't know how it came to this. Everything was back, flooding the room, drowning him in it, and Armin found himself coughing and he felt Diederich's hand on his back rubbing what must have been meant to be soothing circles. Diederich's body draped over his own – a buckle digging into his back, the tawny khaki of a sleeve slipping across him, the press of leather straps against his thighs - a mouth sliding up to his ear.

“I know what you are.”

Armin gagged, a violent cough following it, but before he could turn his head to look the other boy in the face, to question that loaded sentiment that was put out into the world so innocently, he was gone. Vanished. Fuck. He sighed into the sink, trembling, feeling weaker than ever. His knees ached, ankles hissing as he twisted and turned so he could wash his vomit down the drain. The running water rinsed his hands, and he wiped his mouth when he heard footsteps approaching. Reiner appeared in the doorway, hands empty but eyes widening as he gazed on him.

“Armin, fuck, are you alright?” Reiner took two strides to help Armin lean against the sink. “You're white, what happened?” He continued to stare, keeping his heavy hands on his shoulders.

Armin shook his head, the weakness fading but his mind was still slow. Reiner felt like a boulder strapped to him. “I don't know. I felt sick.” He swallowed, rubbing his eyes before glancing up at Reiner's concerned face. “I'm okay now.” His whole body shook. “I gotta,” he looked away, he ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta go meet with the Commander so.” He trailed off, watching the concern melting into hesitance until Reiner finally released him.

“Be careful,” he said, sending him off with a pat on the back. “Don't need you running into anymore trees!”

A dry laugh scratched up his throat. “Yeah.” He shook his head once he turned the corner, arms latching onto elbows while the nausea settled. What was that, exactly? Nightmares he could understand, but now he was hallucinating during the day? And not only was it a visual hallucination, but an auditory one? What he heard Diederich say, it didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense. He couldn't know anything, nothing at all. There was nothing to know. But that didn't dissuade his nerves, and no matter how many times he told himself that everything was fine as he skipped breakfast and climbed the stairs to the Commander's office, all he could do was pace the hallway until he felt that enough time had passed. Once it felt like he would be expected, he knocked on the door. “It's Arlert, sir.”

A beat of silence. “Come in.” The large desk, filled with papers and maps and charts and graphs, never ceased to impress him. He loved it, the fragrant display of intelligence. The musty smell of dust and rotting vanilla. He cracked the door, slipping in with a hasty salute and pushing the door closed with his foot. He winced as the muscle pulled and spasmed, but that was all. The Commander's desk did, in fact, seem to span towards him today, the maps and scribbles he had written himself scattered across the top of a topography map that dipped off its wooden edges. Mottled sunlight and dust motes, an impatient tapping of leather on wood, and a blue, bleary-eyed smile. “Please, sit.”

Armin shuffled forward, averting his eyes from the Corporal lounging in his own plush – though threadbare – seat. He took the only empty one, shoved into the bookshelves and covered in a particularly thick layer of dust. When was the last time he had been in here? Dragging the chair over to the closest corner of the desk, he sat, a plume of detritus blooming around him. “Welcome back Sirs,” he said in something softer than a whisper. His face flushed again.

Levi didn't reply, Armin didn't notice any movement at all expect for his still tapping foot, however Erwin cleared his throat. “Thank you. How are you feeling? Better?”

Armin shrugged, then remembered he wanted to be respectful. “As good as could be expected.”

Erwin seemed pleased enough, the slant of his mouth uplifting for a moment before he spoke again. “Good. Then, to get on to what we need to discuss. As you know Arlert, our coming excursion will probably be the last attempt at completing this supply line. I've taken a look over your notes, and I would like to clarify some things.”

“Of course.”

Large hands clasped atop the papers. “We've been granted the funds for one last run, and I know you're concerned – as we all are – about the,” a pause. A clearing of the throat. “The incident that was our last excursion.”

“Suicide run,” the Corporal spit under his breath.

“It was out of our control,” Erwin tempered, but Levi crossed his arms with a smoldering frown.

The Commander was right, it had been out of their control. But Levi too, he had no reason to say anything different. It had been a massacre; white-knuckled, ear-searing, stomach-clenching horror. Surrounded, chased down and picked off like ants. They were lucky to be alive. Armin didn't feel very lucky.

Erwin leaned back in his chair. “Regardless, we don't want a repeat of that. However,” Armin stiffened, “we're going to capture that abnormal if we are to run into it again.” Oh. Oh fuck. Was he breathing? No, no, he knew this would happen.

Levi was speaking, possibly yelling, but Armin heard waves. “You can't expect this kid to face that again,” the words were hot and sharp.

“Of course not. There's a contingency plan.”

It didn't matter, it really didn't matter. Armin's breaths came short, tongue swollen and heart pounding. He knew. He knew and ignored it, but he knew. Its speed, potential brain processes, abilities to adapt and change to hunt and consume its target...it could possibly be studied, there could be something to learn, but by the Walls he didn't want to see that crooked smile again. How many would die this time? Would this be his last mission? Eren's? Mikasa's? “Okay,” he wheezed, interrupting whatever Levi had been saying about 'wasting lives' or some such thing. “Okay, what do we have to do?”

Erwin paused, Levi turning to glance at him before leaning back into his chair again. Then the Commander smiled. “Let me elaborate.”

And it was an hour. Two. Rewrites and re-plans and calculations. Headaches, frustration, strategy and the Corporal's consistent distaste for the entire affair. He didn't approve of their “side quest,” so he said, and seemed ready at every opportunity to chastise the Commander on his particular flavor of insanity. Still, he helped, and as the afternoon sun rolled around the distorted window panes, Armin sat himself down again with a sigh.

“This is the best we can do,” he stated. It felt like he had said that eight times already. “We don't have enough supplies to do more than establish the base. If we were to encounter that...abnormal, the best course of action is distraction. We have to keep it away from the supplies. That outlier line is the best chance; if they see it before we do, they'll be able to keep it at bay.” Armin tangled his fingers in his hair. He felt like he was sending his friends to their deaths. “I don't see any other way.”

“We'll equip them with additional flares,” Erwin started, gazing at the map as he spoke. “If we keep most of the group on this outer side, away from the trees, then we will all be within eyesight.” Armin nodded. What else could he do now? He didn't have anything else to say. “Armin, I want you to lead the supply group.” Erwin placed a finger on the map. Then he slid it off to the left. “I will lead the outer line,” he tapped his finger. “I will take Hanji, Eren, and a few more select soldiers with me. Levi, you stay with Arlert and the rest; they are our main objective, and shouldn't cause a problem for either of you.” And Erwin looked up, blue eyes meeting blue and all Armin could do was nod again.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I think you've done enough today, cadet.”

“Yea kid, get outta here.”

Armin would have laughed, but he stood instead, relieved to know he could get out of this now stuffy office, but also terrified for his friends. “Right. Thank you.” Another salute, a few long strides to the door and he was gone. Yet the hallway didn't give him the fresh air he thought it would. People shuffled around him, wet rags and mops and other supplies in hand; busy. Now what was he going to do? He couldn't tell Eren, he would be infuriated with the idea of capturing that thing. If he heard it from the Commander's mouth – if he heard it at all – maybe he'd be more willing to accept it. 

Armin hoped a book would ease his mind.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on a roll so i figured i wouldn't wait. does this make up for those long long months without an update? no? crap.

No books, no chapters, no words eased Armin's mind. If thoughts of the coming trek beyond the Walls didn't suffocate him, then worry for Eren, for Jean, Mikasa, Ymir, did. Then the fading bruises. The pain in his ankles. The sticky scent of blood and flesh that permeated the barracks. The state of calm he wanted so desperately eluded him, slipped through his fingers over and over again as he paced the stables, waiting. He waited for the sound of hooves digging into the grass, the chatter of impatient friends ready to clean up and get food in their stomachs. He waited, but no one came; not a noise reached his ears except the huffs of the stabled horses and the wind that blew through. The sun hadn't even reached midway across the sky, of course no one would be coming. “What are you thinking?” he sighed to himself. Lack of sleep made him dull. He had to shake these frantic thoughts, but how?

Count. Breathe. Count the inhales. Take a step. Take two. Count out the length of the stables. No, keep moving, don't stand still. “Don't give yourself time to think.” Straight lines, look, each door, each panel of wood, straight though warping. No, no, there were horses everywhere, galloping to safety, leaving everyone unlucky enough to have fallen off alone, to death. Like him. He had fallen off, swiped from his horse like a rag doll, rolling head over head again and again, unable to tell ground from sky, and he laid there.

'No, think of something else,' he reprimanded, his pace quickening. The scuff of his boots on dirt. He could smell the earth, the bugs and the pollen and the mud as he laid there, praying, listening to the dying screams of those around him. Armin shook his head. “Don't,” he whispered, “please don't not now.” But now was the time, the darkness that encased that night, their flee into the setting sun only to be chased by hammering footsteps, inhuman, monstrous howls. The yelling of commands – scatter, go go go, don't look back, keep going, no help us, no no no no, we have to save them, why is this happening what do we do what do we do what do we do – it pounded in his head. His knees shook, hay under his feet, unable to tell the difference between the musty dirt of the stables and the windswept mud of his nightmares.

I know what you are. I know what you are. I know what you are I know what you are I know what youareIknowwhatyouareIknowIknowIknowIknow.

Armin couldn't escape now. His horse had left him, its retreating hoofbeats taking his heart with them. His last hope leaving him behind. He thought of Eren, of if he had managed to get away, if he was with everyone else. The titan had burst through the trees, scattering the formation like marbles. Erwin shouted orders, Levi was the first off the ground to fight. Armin's horse reared up, taking all his strength to keep it from bolting.

That day, the sun had set red-orange, fiery and hopeful. They'd make it back to Maria before it disappeared into darkness. But the trees rustled. The lookouts – a group of five – barreled towards them, screaming and waving their arms. Two horses ran without riders.

“Titan! Abnormal!”

It echoed, the formation lurching into a gallop in haste. 'We have to outrun it, we have to get away.' Panic rose, resurfacing the memories of Annie hunting them down all over again, but as Armin turned towards the sound of breaking trees on his right, he knew this was worse. It was large, humanoid in shape, yet its spine stretched into a boney, elongated line like a pipe. Arms and legs nearly double the length of its body – sinewy skin, veiny and steaming, sharp, pointed elbows and expansive hands with webbed fingers - it crawled with a crooked smile, flat human teeth and tongue. A lungful of air caught in Armin's throat. He was going to shout, tell the lookouts to swerve, to just get away, but the titan's long arm stretched out, plucked them from their horses and swallowed them whole. A blink and they were gone. Was that him screaming? He couldn't look, yanking his eyes away from the scrambling horses. He heard it, the sound of breaking ground and panicked animals; the horses were gone, vanished, a splatter of red in his peripheral vision. 

No one was supposed to fight it, they were only ordered to run. The whizz of maneuver gear erupted around him – the idiots – and another chorus of screams. Scatter. Blood. Everyone scattered, any direction viable as long as it was way from that thing. But it shook the ground, racing up to them, picking off anyone too close. And the ones in the air trying to prove their worth, they peeled no skin from the titan. Simply the crushing of bones and gushing of blood and organs before they were silenced. Armin didn't dare look. He could see it in his head.

The sun seemed to be setting too fast, the Walls never close enough, and the titan always closer. Even though Eren had shifted, he didn't seem able to stop it. The open plains were receding to rocky ground, obstacles slowing everyone's retreat. Eren couldn't protect them.

Armin didn't know what happened. One moment he was steering his horse towards the trees, and the next a long, sinewed arm came swinging. It missed by what felt like inches, but his horse spooked, a frantic buck of its back legs and he was out of control. His horse veered around, the carnage he had wanted to avoid backhanding him in the face. They were close, Eren and the thing. People were still going in all directions, the only sound the growls and howls of the two titans locked in their death grip blasting across the plains. There were still a few trying to dig their blades into its neck, but none of them managed. They were crushed instead. Eren wasn't winning.

Horses lay sprawled around him in bits and pieces, bloodied cloaks and boots and body parts resting nearby. His horse picked its way through, trampling some and avoiding others. There was another cry and everything went dark as something – Armin really didn't know – came hurdling through the air, colliding with him. 

Tumbling. Yeah, he was tumbling through the air, hitting the ground, rolling and bruising and coughing. He felt the grass dig into this clothes, irritate his nose. His horse, it was gone. Galloping to freedom. Erwin's voice, a blast of heat, and it was much more quiet. But still, that ground shaking gait; Eren hadn't killed it. It was still alive.

It stayed that way, attacking everything that moved, following whoever was left to the Walls. It passed him by, dripping blood and gore, gnawing on the remains of people he barely knew. Maybe. He watched it skin a soldier alive, snap their limbs and slurp them slow. He listened to their deaths, each one a horror-filled shriek that ended with the same choking sound. It was dark. So dark.

Why was it so dark?

A familiar scent drifted to him. Old bed linens and young bodies. Oh, right. He lifted his sheets from his face, staring at the splintered bunk above him. Eren. He lay beside him, fast asleep, face too young and still peaceful. But there were flaming red indents on his neck, ones only Mikasa knew about. Bite marks from him. And Armin licked his lips, turning over to nestle closer to him and his scent, all the while opening his mouth wide. Wider.

Eat him.

“Arlert?”

Eat him. Eat him.

A hand clasped his shoulder, a strike of lightening on skin and Armin jumped, swiveling on his heel as he found himself kneeling in a corner, his hands on his ears. “What's wrong?” Armin blinked. The world swam in front of him. “Arlert, what's wrong?”

Oh. “N-nothing!” he squeaked, glancing up to see the Corporal standing above him. He looked back to his knees, waited for the hand to release him before he stood, head down. “I'm okay now, sir.” He looked up.

A frown greeted him, a pause as Levi seemed to compose himself. “No, I don't think you are.” He crossed his arms over his chest, surveying him. “Why are you hunched up in a corner?”

“Um...” Armin couldn't answer. His mouth moved, but no words appeared. He kept his eyes on Levi, who, when he seemed to realize he wouldn't get an answer, shifted his weight and let his arms drop. The less threatening stance put off a strange comfort, and he chewed his lip.

“That's fine.” Armin saw a flash of something cross Levi's face. Concern? Pity? He swiped his fringe with his hand before grimacing. Was that because of him? Did the Corporal find him so disgusting? Armin moved to ask, but Levi turned around and started walking. “You look like you could use some rest,” he called over his shoulder, voice dropping and smooth. “Stop thinking about what's out there,” he motioned his head towards the Walls. “And worry about yourself for once.”

“Yessir.”

A huff. Levi's boots stalled and he turned again. “Goddammit Arlert. If you're not okay you need to tell me. Tell someone. Don't let us assume you're fine; I've seen too many good soldiers go out that way, and you're mind is too sharp for that. You're an asset.”

Armin shuffled his heels in the dirt. An asset? Maybe. The Commander must have put him up to this. “Thankyousir,” he muttered, giving Levi a salute and turning to leave. As quickly as possible. He didn't wait to hear if the Corporal was angry with him leaving, he didn't wait to see if he would follow, he just had to get away. Anywhere. Out. Just out.

He barricaded himself in the lonely, dusty library again, piling book after book atop the worn table. Books about plants, old world medicines, works of fiction and dictionaries. Medical textbooks. Books on titan anatomy. He piled it all up, taller than himself, reading each title, touching the spines and placing them just so. If he had seen anyone in this library in the months he had been here, Armin would have worried about his actions. But it was always empty, waiting for someone. Just him. So the mess didn't matter, and really what mattered at all? He could be dead soon. Everyone could be gone.

Life was fragile.

Like skin over bone. One misstep and it's exposed.

The sun set, Armin finding comfort in the darkness. And then a knock on the door. “I know you're in there,” Mikasa's flat voice leaking through the wood. Armin shuffled his way the door, wondering why she didn't just open it, but pulled the door handle letting the ambient lantern light into the room. Mikasa stood before him, eyebrow raised. “Are you hungry?”

Armin shook his head, remembering his dinner of stewed fingers – no, carrots – before. “Not really.” He smiled. Would she leave it?

She tilted her head, her eyes softening as she took a light hold on his arm. “Let's talk.” She pulled him from the doorway, taking his hand as she led him from the library, back through the darkened hallways and back to his room. She twisted the knob, pushed open the door and released him. Armin went first. She wouldn't be letting him leave, her focus palpable around her. Armin leaned against the nearest wall, sighing to himself as she let herself in and shut the door. 

“Mikasa...” he let out in a half-groan. “If you're worried about me-”

“Of course I'm worried about you.” The statement stung. “Armin, everyone is worried about you.” Mikasa didn't move, but she frowned, one hand fingering the end of her scarf. “Eren is worried, I'm worried. Very worried.”

No. No they couldn't be. They shouldn't be. A sinister laugh bubbled up his throat. “But I'm fine,” he chuckled. “Everything is fine.” Had to be. But Mikasa didn't seem to believe him, taking a step forward and grasping both his hands. She hadn't done that in years.

“Armin,” her words brushed against him like fleece. “It's okay. You can tell me.”

Hadn't she said that before? Days ago. Years too. Deja vu washed warm over him. It smelled like old wood. Hazy memories of dark rooms, naked skin, familiar scents and an overbearing exhaustion. “I don't have anything to tell,” he denied with a shrug, keeping his gaze level. “Sorry.”

Mikasa didn't budge however, encroaching into his space, a faint smile on her lips. “Then what's this?” She folded down the collar of his shirt before he could blink, running her cool fingers against the fading bruise that encircled his neck. Yeah, his face was getting hot. “And this?” She flipped the hand she held, tugging his sleeve and exposing the welts melting into his wrist. She looked at him, firm, waiting for an answer.

Nothing. No air. Armin's throat closed up, face burning, ready to run. She cornered him. He couldn't fight this. His inhale shook him to the core. “It's nothing, I mean, it's fine. It doesn't hurt.” Pathetic.

“So you can't tell me,” she breathed, a deep pit of sorrow swelling in her eyes. Mikasa leaned in, wrapping her arms around his trembling shoulders. She breathed him in, and Armin smelled the softness in her hair. “I don't know what you're doing, and that's okay,” she spoke into his shoulder. “You don't have to tell me. I just want you to be okay.”

Armin held back a sob. He couldn't cry now, not after keeping his secret for so long. But his mouth felt like it would blubber if he spoke, and if he blinked he wouldn't be able to stop the tears. He mimicked her, relaxing into her hug and burying his face in her jacket. “Thank you,” croaked out. “Please don't worry.”

“Are you having those urges again?”

“No.” Armin's answer rang in his head – such blatant denial – but it sounded forceful like he was telling the truth. His fingers dug into Mikasa's jacket, and he felt her arms tighten around him.

“If you do, come to me first.”

Hurt. It hurt. “I will.” But really? Armin had already put it behind him. Right? He wouldn't...do that anymore. It wasn't worth it. Eren didn't deserve it. He couldn't do it anymore. A thought echoed again: 'eat him'.

Mikasa shifted, her shoulders pulling back and her arms loosening. She fixed a steady gaze on him, molten emotions that Armin couldn't decipher. “Promise?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

She didn't let him go, unwrapping herself from him. “Then let's go eat.” And she pulled him, and Armin didn't have the strength to fight her about it. He didn't need to bring more attention to himself, he just wanted to be alone and think. Yet the thoughts, he had no control over them; what was the point? He was restless. Being unable to train was affecting him more than he thought. Right? He'd fought so hard to keep this down for so long, he couldn't lose now. Yet, even Eren's infectious smile couldn't being Armin out from the circle he was running in. What if what if what if?

The plate of food sitting in front of him, Armin couldn't identify it. He heard conversations from across the long table, but words meant nothing. Eren pressed himself into his hip, casting half smiles and wondering eyes. Mikasa leaned back to examine him every few breaths. Whatever was in his mouth tasted like sawdust, gritty, bitter and thick. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. Levi had told him to tell someone. How could he? He'd be kicked from the Corps, hands down, and then what would they do with him? Lock him away in a small little cell and feed him the same three meals every day? No, he couldn't tell anyone.

“Um, excuse me?” came a light voice.

Eren turned but stayed silent. Armin turned too, noticing the darkness in Eren's eyes before he switched his gaze. Black curly hair caught his attention first; Armin was looking into the green-brown eyes of the girl standing in front of him. “Hello,” he replied, as if she demanded it.

She looked at him, starred really, before she asked, “are you Armin?”

“Yes?” His hesitance palpitated his heart. She seemed to pull his answers from him.

She stuck out her hand – small – and tilted her hips back. “I'm Mable. Nice to meet you in person.”

Her hand drew him in; he shook it with light fingers. “Ah, in person?”

Mable smiled. “Jean has told me a lot about you.” His name sounded so natural from her mouth. She nodded her head towards him before releasing Armin's hand and placing them behind her back. Her voice didn't fit her face, the spun-sugar sweetness odd coming from a face that had such piercing eyes. She reminded him of Erwin, always a step ahead. Then he heard Jean shout in recognition to her, and she gave a smile with a wave but didn't move.

Eren bristled, Armin felt it on the back of his neck. But Mable. That sounded so familiar. “Has he?” Armin strained to keep his expression blank.

“Mmhm, like how nice and smart you are,” she said, the innocent look on her face not matching up with the sinister undertone in her voice. A loud bashing disturbed the room, someone started yelling and Armin was about to turn around and look – naturally everyone else had as well – until he felt Mabel slip her small hands over his shoulders and whispered something that forced his stomach into his bowels. “And about how much cock you suck.”

What. 

What was this? Who was this girl? What was she even talking about? What did she know? What was she referencing? Who told her that. What? Why? A deep breath filled his lungs and Mable slipped away, bidding goodbye to their side of the table as she strolled away. No one else seemed to notice. What a convenient distraction. Was that paranoia talking? What were the chances? What the fuck was going on? He looked to Eren who glared at Jean for reasons unknown. Mikasa chatted with Krista beside her, or at least that's what it seemed. Connie sat a distance away, and he had all his attention on Sasha. The new kids, they crowded together near the end of the table, unrecognizable faces that didn't bat an eyelash at him. It was like they had already forgotten Mable had been talking to them.

Speaking of, Mable passed across from him, slipped into at seat at the table, turning to say something to the boy beside her. Oh. Diederich. Armin remembered. Jean had mentioned her...yesterday? He shook his head. All the days ran together. But Jean wanted to talk to him about her, and he had shut him down. Did he tell her? Was she angry with him? Was that what this was? Some kind of revenge for ignoring them? It couldn't be, he wasn't important enough for them to bother, but the words echoed in his head. 'I know what you are. I know about how much cock you suck.' Ridiculous. It was so childish! They were children, remember? Armin always found himself forgetting. He was only fifteen. Eren was fifteen. Mikasa too. Everyone was around the same age, and they were children. Except for him. He didn't feel much like a child anymore; how could he? He had ruined his innocence years ago.

Armin brought his hands up to cover his face, hoping the warmth and darkness would soothe him. They didn't mean anything by it. They were just harassing him. If he left it alone they'd get bored and do something else. But his heart still stuttered when he thought about it. If they started spreading rumors...what would happen then? Could he cover all that up? What if...what if they did know. What if they knew about all of it? With the Corporal. What if they knew what he did to him? Levi would stay, he would have to stay, he was important. He himself would go. Back to the streets? No, please, not there.

He had to know what they knew.

At any cost.

But what would he do. He had to do it alone, he had to leave the facade of comfort Eren's body was giving him, and he had to escape Mikasa's gaze, and too many thoughts whirled in his head. He ate his food. Tasteless. He couldn't keep his eyes off Mable. Diederich too. And they watched him as well, taking to each other. He had to ask them. It would be better to face them now than try and ignore them. But his stomach hurt, and when Armin cast a pointed glance across the table to Diederich then the large double doors, he gave a curt nod and turned to Mable. This was it.

Armin slid from the table, apologizing for leaving so early, keeping a slow pace to the kitchen to hand off his dishware. Across the table, Diederich stood up as well, not giving Armin a glance. But he heard the footsteps behind him as he walked, that prickling feeling of being followed flaring on his back. This didn't feel right. He rounded the corner, taking note of the three recruits working to keep up with the dishes. Commit it to memory, map a route for escape. He slipped his plate in the filling sink without a word, sidestepping Diederich on the way out. 

Where to go...where would be quiet enough? Armin continued to walk the empty corridors, heading to laundry. No one would bother washing clothes at this hour, and it wasn't so far away that if he had to yell, he wouldn't be heard. But as he walked and listened to the heavy footsteps behind him, dread dripped into his veins. It was farther than he thought. It felt lonely, isolated in this wing. What if he needed help? What if something went wrong? He paused, surveying the dark hallway and the flickering light of laundry down the hall. This was good enough. He turned in wait.

“What is it Armin?” Diederich asked as he approached, brown eyes reflecting the lantern light.

Time to be brave. Armin folded his arms and grabbed his elbows. “I want to know what Mabel is talking about. What you both are.” At least he sounded unfazed.

“Talking about?” Diederich looked confused, raising both eyebrows and easing his shoulder casually against the wall. He shrugged with his other shoulder, crossing his arms as well. “I don't know what you mean.”

No hint of threat alerted Armin. Nothing at all. He seemed so harmless, but his stomach still knotted. He couldn't be playing dumb now, could he? Out in a hallway that was almost always empty, unable to hear the commotions from the dining hall? Maybe he really didn't know. “What you said the other morning, about 'knowing'?” This felt ridiculous.

“Oh,” Diederich replied, drawing out the sound before pushing himself from the wall, taking an uncomfortable amount of steps towards him. “Yeah,” his voice lowered, eyes bright. “I 'know' some things.”

Armin backpedaled. “Care to explain?” He asked, but he didn't want to really know. Diederich gave him a knowing smirk, continued to press into his space, and then cold stone touched his back. Cornered. Fuck.

“Don't look so scared Arlert,” slithered into his ears. “I know how worried you are,” he continued, overshadowing him. “And I don't want to upset you much more.” Armin couldn't answer, the space between them centimeters, and now he felt threatened. That aura he had felt before, that tingling in the back of his head, it made sense. This had been a really stupid idea. “How about we make a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> them: have you seen corpse party?  
> me: *sweats nervously*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did the thing. enjoy

Too many thoughts, too many outcomes. “What kind of deal?” Armin asked, standing his ground now because if he leaned any further back into the wall Diederich might smother him. Anxiety prickled through him, avoiding the gaze that pinned him in place and looking for somebody, anybody, to pass by. But they had walked far enough, and the shadows danced thick on the walls; no one would be coming this way. He didn't think this through.

The smile that cracked Diederich's lips leaned to one side. “I ask you for some simple favors, occasionally, and we keep our mouths shut.” He leaned back on his heels, but didn't let in more air. “Does that sound alright with you Armin?” 

He asked so casually. He didn't seem to care at all. Armin glanced at his feet, listened again to the silence, and hesitated. What kind of favors? Why? “I don't-” he started, but the other boy interrupted him.

“It's real easy Armin, don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to do something I wouldn't do.”

The sing-song in his voice, Armin almost laughed. Sick. He didn't feel reassured at all. But he couldn't be discharged from the Corps. Eren would collapse without him, wouldn't sleep until he found him, and it would cause so much trouble. He couldn't let that happen, he couldn't risk their survival for a stupid little secret. “You promise?” It was a last ditch act of desperation. Maybe he would change his mind.

The chuckle told him no. “We promise,” Diederich smiled, still just as slanted. “So do we have a deal?” He still didn't move, eyes heavy with expectation.

“Y-yes, okay. It's a deal.” Armin couldn't look him in the face. He didn't look at him at all despite the handshake, the promise of 'more later', or even as he retreated into the dark. What did he just agree to? It wasn't until he heard footsteps that he looked up, Mable drifting around the corner like she had been there the entire time. She waved at him, then disappeared with Diederich at her side. Nothing felt right about this, something was very very wrong, but it was too late now. Eren was more important, the entire Corps more important than him. Whatever he had to do, whatever happened to him, it would be worth it to keep everything running. It was a small sacrifice. “And,” he mused, taking up a slow pace to his lonely room, “if worse comes to worst I could always get eaten.” Eaten. Eaten. The word was thick on his tongue, slimy and warm.

He lay in bed once he locked his door, miserable. Another secret to keep, another reason to stay isolated, another reason to die. How did this happen? Why? Armin couldn't fathom what he did to deserve it. He couldn't reason himself through it this time. He needed to talk to Levi. But what to say? 'Oh, sorry, we can't fuck anymore because I'm being blackmailed by my fellow soldiers'? Right, that would fly so well. What if Erwin mounted a full-scale investigation? What if Levi ignored him completely? No, neither of those were feasible; he had to stay quiet. Armin buried his face into his pillow. Then he realized: he still didn't know what Mable or Diederich knew. Fucking shit. He'd been so fucking worried, so off-kilter with those eyes so close, that he didn't think to ask for more information. He didn't think at all. 'God dammit Arlert you need to think.' He'd panicked and now...nothing. He didn't know anything more than he had before dinner.

Sleep came with a high moon and sweat. Wake up. Train, breakfast, dinner. Sleep. Wake up. Breakfast. Diederich's knowing smirks. Try to sleep. Wake up. Diederich. Sleep. Diederich. Wake up, Diederich. Train, Diederich. Sleep and Diederich, Diederich, Diederich. Armin couldn't take it; how many more weeks would pass like this? The constant grinding stones in his stomach and the frigid freeze of his lungs every time him or Mable looked his way. It was like looking his executioner in the eye and asking if it was his day to die. His head, it couldn't take it. He didn't want to think about all those possible requests, the state of anxiety it put him in, the urge for safety and protection that gagged him like a slug in the back of this throat. Every day that passed and Diederich didn't ask him of anything made the anticipation worse.

And then, how did it all end up here? No, he knew. The coil of heat permeating through his tailbone drove him crazy, made him frantic and reckless. The voices in his head urged him on – yes, yes, you useless thing – and when that night came, a thick, rainy blackness that settled in the air, Armin witnessed his own darkness overtake the many others inside himself.

So it went. Dark, a faint moon casting no light through the crusted windows, almost alone in a musty room, not a thought in Armin's head as some boy he couldn't remember the name of benignly sucked him off. All he had to do was keep his hands tangled in his hair, breathe out any pleasure, and let his body react as it will. He didn't have the space to feel embarrassed with the hand digging into his hip or the other traveling his thigh. The sparks of orgasm blinded him to the familiar bitterness in his mouth that would never leave, and he road it out as he was manhandled, fucked, and left to himself with one last delirious look to the boy he wouldn't remember the face of in the morning. How did it end up like this? Where was his pride? How many more?

No, it didn't really matter did it? They were almost as much of a distraction as the Corporal, almost as good as Eren. It would have to do, right? Mikasa kept her eye on him after all, and Eren wouldn't be the wiser as long as he could keep a smile on his face. He shivered at the thought, pulling his pants back up from his knees. What else did he have left? It was survival; he was trying to survive. And if he ever thought of something better, then he could stop this. Of course. As if he had control over it. “I'll be okay,” he whispered into the silence – something he found himself doing often - running a hand through his matted hair and leaving the abandoned upper floor – nothing like he had found it – and slipped through the hallways with practiced silence. Not like it mattered; the entire castle seemed asleep, the walls themselves oblivious to the sins he committed. Thank the Walls.

However, it spiraled like Armin knew it would. It could have been because he had started it, because he knew what the lingering hands during training were supposed to mean - or maybe he was simply hyper-aware - but even if no one but himself and whoever was brave enough to touch him knew, he felt as if his body was to be kept on display for all to see. The prying eyes. The closeness of bodies he had never noticed before. Somehow, Eren's heat couldn't soothe him, and he didn't seek it. Maybe it was shame. Maybe it was fear.

And then... “Hey Armin!” he paused from mucking the stables, pitchfork in hand. He caught eyes with one of the new recruits – even though Armin couldn't count the number of days they had all been crowded together anymore, they would always be the “new ones” - jogging over to him with a packet of papers in hand. “Smith is looking for you!” He didn't stop running until he was an arm-lengths away, his face flushed. Armin recognized parts of his face.

“Uh, thanks,” he smiled, leaning his pitchfork against the stall and reaching out for the papers he wasn't at all interested in. The Expedition was probably being revised again, and the thought of another few hours in this nauseating heat in that suffocating room made him want to crawl into a hole and die. But the papers weren't given to him, and Armin blinked as they fluttered above his open palm. He glanced up, scanning the dusky brown eyes staring back at him. Ah. A new smile slipped to Armin's lips, sickly sweet words piling on this tongue. He cast his eyes down, retrieving the papers without a lack of skin contact – fingertips to knuckles, slow down, keep it light – and looked up again as the documents fell into his hands, those brown eyes cast-over. Gods save him. “You know,” he sang in a hush, pulling up the pages to cover his mouth. He watched as the other boy looked back to his face, that knowing glint and flushed cheeks. “I won't be too busy later,” the words drifted. An eyebrow raised. A step taken closer, a hand brushing his bangs and just a whisper.

“Wait for me then.”

Armin stepped back, a painful giggle in the back of his throat smothering his desire to cry. He could gag on it if he wanted. “Of course,” was the answer that always came next, and then the rushed exit, the realization that he had done this again, put himself through this again, like it was nothing. He hadn't meant to.... But Gods he needed it.

Documents. Armin looked down, unable to keep his frown from breaking apart his facade. He shuffled through the pages – more reports, more inquiries, more details and details and details – then sighed. The Commander was looking for him, he'd have to read on the way.

Did he? Armin groaned to himself as the familiar heavy door towered over him. In fact, he hadn't read a single word. Regardless, he knocked, praying intuition would help him wing it. He didn't feel proud of it, no way in hell, but he had to hold onto something. The thoughts of that unfamiliar-familiar mouth on his body gave him chills, though at least they blocked out that constant self-depreciation. Armin stood for another moment until he realized the stretching silence. Was the Commander not in? Foregoing knocking again – was there really any point? - he twisted the doorknob and peered inside.

“Arlert.” Oh. Armin let out a puff of air before slipping in, pressing the door closed behind him. “I didn't invite you in,” continued that rigid tone.

“You didn't not invite me in either,” Armin mumbled to himself, then said, “my apologies, Corporal. Am I interrupting?” Why was his voice shaking?

Levi sat on Erwin's wide desk, one leg crossed as he leaned back on one hand, holding a few papers up to his face with the other. He looked over them. “Of course not.”

Well, that was all well and good, but, “um, the Commander was looking for me?” Armin crossed the room with quiet strides, taking his place in his designated chair, uncomfortably close to Levi's swinging foot.

“Erwin stepped out.”

Ah, well, “oh.” Now what? Read? A chuckle caught in Armin's throat, the idea of failing another attempt at understanding his new reading material beyond the point of actual humor. Still, he pushed himself further back in his chair and pretended to look busy. He listened as Levi leafed through a few more pages, then the desk creaked, then more silence. Armin sucked his bottom lip into his mouth – don't say anything, don't say anything, don't say anything – before reaching up to thread his fingers through his hair; it needed cut.

Levi cleared his throat, somehow the small noise bouncing across the room. Armin felt his shoulders tense. “So what do you think of Sina's proposal?”

Armin looked up. Shit. Words tumbled around in his mouth – mostly curses – yet nothing came out. The silence stretched as he stared, wide-eyed, at the man gazing at him, expecting an answer from him. “Well, I-” he started, not ready to admit defeat but not ready to try and bullshit his way through the question. But Levi let him flounder, continued to give him that dissatisfied look as he stuttered, stumbled, and tried to pull up any wisp of memory about anything he had tried to read. Why was he doing this? Why couldn't he have just read the damn papers?

“You didn't read it did you?”

Armin couldn't stop the choking sound that verified his misdeed. He shriveled in his seat. “Not...entirely,” he slipped out. Fucking embarrassing. “B-but I-”

“You look ill.”

“W-well-”

“And you've been sub-par during training lately.”

“Yeah, but-”

“You've been missing errors in the paperwork.” Armin stopped. “And now this?” Levi swayed his hand, pushing himself forward to slip off the desk. “Don't act like I haven't noticed.”

“...Noticed?” Armin couldn't complete his train of thought, Levi's hand sweeping in to grab the collar of his shirt with a sharp tug, exposing the bare skin of his shoulder.

“This.” Vehement. Armin tilted his head to look, having forgotten the wound there. The impression of many teeth, red and purple and stark white. Levi leaned down, the sharpness in his voice raging his eyes too, and Armin leaned back on instinct. “Those aren't from training.”

He couldn't breathe. This wasn't happening. “I-”

Levi let him go then – and Armin was sure to straighten out his shirt with shaking hands – before he leaned against the desk once more, foreboding, icy cold. “I don't care what you do in your spare time Arlert, but it's affecting your work.” A beat of silence before he continued. “You're not taking care of yourself, you're letting too many things slip between your fingers.” No. No no no no. “I can't have you languish like this, being a-” Please.

“Burden?” There it was, the tipping point. Armin didn't dare stop it. “Right? I'm just being useless? Dead weight again?” He couldn't believe this. Levi's eyes bore into him, expressionless, and it brought Armin's blood to a rolling boil. How dare he. How dare he call him out like this in a goddamned tactical office. Gods, the fucking irony. How dare he acknowledge his slipping strands of dignity, how dare he observe his falling apart. “Please,” Armin continued as he lifted himself from his chair. “If my best isn't good enough for you anymore, just let me know. I wouldn't want to inconvenience my superiors.” The words, they tumbled, civility be damned; this man had already seen the worst of him, another step lower couldn't change much of anything now. He wouldn't be able to crawl back up from any of this.

“Hell,” he cursed, rounding his chair and gripping the sides. “Don't look at me like that,” he muttered, the heft of Levi's gaze still weighing him down. The rawness of his shattered facade dug deep. He was worthless. Sick. Armin knew already, he had known all of this, and he didn't stop himself either. He didn't have that sort of control, the kind Levi would always try to fuck into him, but it never took. Levi was mocking him. “I just – I mean, what does this have to do with you anyway, Sir?” Armin tugged his shirt before taking a step back, the lack of interest directed towards him a spike to his heart. “You keep saying I have potential, that I can solve anything, and then somehow we end up here where I'm not good enough anymore?” His voice was rising, he couldn't stop it. “I don't,” he choked, “I didn't want this! Where do you get off bringing it up? Does this help you?”

“Armin...”

“No! I want to know. Why me, why this? What the fuck do you want from me?!” He didn't know what he was talking about; maybe everything, maybe nothing, there were just so many thoughts, too many emotions, and worst of all Armin knew it was the worst possible time to bring any of it up. These ones, they were the deep ones he didn't want to open the lid to. Not now, not ever, and yet he couldn't stop himself when Levi called his name again, a certain softness in the tone he hadn't heard since Trost. The bubbling burn made him sick. What had everything come to? And that realization weighed too much for Armin to bare. They couldn't go back, nothing could go back.

Levi hadn't moved; Armin surveyed him, the ease in his shoulders, the slope of his legs. He wasn't nearly as wound up as himself, and Armin bit his tongue. “Don't,” he spat, taking yet another step back. He had to get away, go anywhere but here and face all of this.

“Armin, don't do this shit, listen to me a second.”

This shit? Never. Armin's molars dug into one another. “No, you listen to me. I-” The door behind him clicked, a splash of water to the fire in his head, and he turned to see exactly who he had come looking for.

Erwin gave a small smile. “Am I interrupting?”

“No.” Levi punctuated. It was all over. All the blood drained from Armin's body as he continued to stand, the thought of giving a proper salute too far back in his mind. “Nothing of much importance anyway.”

Armin bit his tongue with a nod – if he didn't he would be able to stop his screaming tears - Levi's words ringing in his ears. Was this what a shattered heart felt like? Scorching and frozen at the same time? He swore he felt each fissure break him into pieces. “No sir,” he mimicked with a neutral glance to the side. Then he looked up. “Nothing of much importance.” He was going to vomit.

Erwin raised a single eyebrow, his gaze shifting to the Corporal and back to himself. Seeming satisfied, he made his way to his desk, spreading the papers already there across the worn wood. “Well then, let's go over this from the beginning shall we?”

Armin fell into his seat, chest burning too hot for him to speak. If he didn't hold it in he would be a mess of sobbing and shaking and sickness. 'Swallow it down, pretend nothing matters.'

Levi began to talk as calm as ever.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not even sorry because i'm drowning in eremin feels  
> yes, i added new tags. no, i am not joking. this shit is gonna get crazy

“Sina wants to derive our funds from the working camps around Maria,” Levi frowned. “We're going to need less supplies before we ruin the already failing economy of the outer walls.”

“So what can we let go?” Erwin had sat at his desk – to Armin's eventual relief – without any more words on his tantrum that he may have heard. Gods, could this get any more awkward? Levi let out a sigh beside him right as Erwin cleared his throat. “More importantly, what do we essentially need?”

Horses. Rations. Medical supplies. Flares. The additional recruits taxed those necessities harder than Armin had thought when they first arrived. It seemed Erwin didn't mind, but the Corps still ran on debts and under-stocking. But of course, Armin didn't read the reports, so he couldn't give an answer when Erwin cast a glance at him.

Levi saved his ass. “If we take the younger stallions and let the more experienced handle them, that reduces new stock by a terribly meager percent. But it'll save us some fucking money.” He shrugged. Erwin nodded and scribbled something down. Armin felt sick.

The two men continued on without him. How, Armin didn't dare ask lest they want something from him, however it felt terrible. He was failing the one thing he was good at. As silent as he could, Armin slipped his fingers into his papers and started to scan the paragraphs. A list of names. Formation sketches. Something was missing, something scratching at the back of his head.

The warmth of a voice directed his attention. “Armin.” Erwin held a faint smile on his face, a comforting yet unusual casualty and softness about him. He was trying to soothe him.

It felt like years until Armin found his voice. “Yessir?”

Erwin paused, seeming to examine him before he spoke. “I want to talk to you about your place in all of this.”

Panic. “My place?”

His eyes softened, Levi didn't make a sound. The humming of the flies outside the windows filled Armin's head. “How would you feel about sitting this expedition out?”

No. Oh no. Oh no no no no. “Sit out?” As if he were deaf. “You mean, stay here?” As if he could have meant anything else. The rest of his thoughts avoided all attempts to decipher, and Armin stared, feeling incredibly stupid. Why...why would he ask that?

Erwin folded his hands together, diplomatic. He looked like he was about to give a child bad news, a soft smile still on his lips, but Armin only felt his anxiety spike. They didn't want him there. They actually didn't want him to go on the mission. All these meetings simply to be put in the back, to stay and watch over a nearly empty castle while everyone else was saving the god damned human race. Could he be that useless? Could they think so lowly of him now? Levi's words rang in his head again. He wasn't pulling his weight, he had let himself slip too far. What did this mean for him? What if this was the start of something? Becoming some tactical tortured genius that had to be kept hidden from the rest of the world? Armin's stomach filled with rocks. “Don't worry Armin, we hope it will only be for this excursion.”

Hope?

“Levi has informed me how traumatic that incident has been for you; and all of us, Armin, think it would be much safer for you to stay behind.” Erwin paused, but Armin didn't speak. He couldn't. His brain only heard that Levi had talked about him. Why did he feel betrayed? “We...don't want you to have to come in contact with that again.”

“I want to go,” Armin spilled out, voice cracked. “Sir.”

Levi huffed. “Please Arlert, you're not okay with that.”

Armin turned, biting through his tongue, unable to figure out which emotion he wanted to show first. “I'm fine!” He squeaked.

“Of course you are,” Erwin buffered, drawing Armin's attention again. “We want to keep you that way. Think of it as taking a break.”

Some sound gurgled out of Armin's throat. “I'm sorry Commander, I can't do that. I...I wouldn't be able to relax at all.” The urgency in his voice seemed to have an affect as Erwin shared an indescribable series of minuscule looks at Levi before he spoke.

He turned to Armin again. “It's your choice of course, we would suffer without your skill, but-”

“You need to stay,” Levi interrupted, crossing his arms across his chest as if chiding a toddler.

“I'm sorry,” Armin lied, looking down at his hands that he had been unconsciously wringing raw. He placed them on his knees. “I don't want to stay behind.”

An exasperated huff left Levi's mouth.

“Then it's settled.” Armin didn't look up. Levi didn't move from the corner of his eye.

“Thank you sir.” But Armin didn't feel relieved. His stomach boiled, jaw tense and lungs quaking. Ridiculous. But he couldn't complain now, couldn't do anything about it; his superiors thought he had lost his usefulness. Levi called him out on it, as if he hadn't been the one fucking him to screaming for weeks. Though, in his defense, it had been a while since either of them even talked to one another. But that didn't matter. His position was at stake; he had to prove himself now. If that...if that titan came back, he'd face it, kill it if he had to, and then the nightmares would stop and he wouldn't smell blood in his pillows anymore and Mikasa and Eren wouldn't have a single reason to worry about him. Because they were worried. He saw it at every meal, felt it in Eren's hands, and if he listened hard enough, Armin swore he heard it in hushed discussion too. Fucking shit, he needed to get his act together.

Erwin continued to talk a while more, mostly discoursing with Levi on the amount of black tea they would be able to afford, next to more cleaning supplies. And then, “with these last few things soon being settled, I'll announce the expected expedition date tomorrow. I know you'll get the recruits prepared?” Levi tilted his shoulder. “Then, Arlert you can go. Get some rest, eat a good meal. I'll see you during gear prep tomorrow.”

“Yessir,” echoed through the office as Armin sped from the room, the next sound being the door closing behind him and the ear-ringing silence of stone hallways. He placed his hand on his bruised shoulder, pressing to feel the tingle of misplaced blood. His voice rattled in his head, stomach clenching as he rolled his shoulder, unsure where exactly he would go, but knowing anywhere would be better than near those large doors.

Though, maybe that hadn't been exactly true. 

The hot mouth on his neck felt rushed, as did his hands as they trailed an abdomen and delved beneath pants. A moan, maybe his own, it didn't matter. Skin touching, teeth, prying fingers, hoarse panting. Armin couldn't tell his limbs apart, drowning in the need to just shut everything up, to rid himself of this burning anger. It rolled through him again as he pushed the hovering body back, clamored over his hips, took his mouth in his own. If only the hands that trailed his sides dug into the skin, if only he were forced to take the cock that waited for him. If only... Armin knew he'd do it, enjoy the sharp protests of his body, swallow up all the pain to bursting, pray to rid himself of it. Levi would know. Levi would....

Armin's body tensed, a familiar and yet foreign chill slipping into him. Maybe it would always be that way; a chuckle told him yes, the voice that spoke reminding him that this time was different. “You're so tense,” the voice chided. “Relax.” Armin pressed against the fingers that continued inward, biting his tongue because who the fuck did this kid think he was? Yet, he pressed his mouth into the other's damp neck, inhaling a lung-full of evanescent scent.

“Just fuck me already,” he cracked, fists balling into the sheets, a spike of anxiety splitting his stomach. This wasn't Levi, never could be Levi, but it was worse. 'Thrown to the wolves,' Armin thought, gasping as he got what he wanted - wet heat and burning, a whimper - but it didn't feel right. No, it would never feel right this way, with a brown-eyed black-haired boy that gave him the sweetest face when they caught eyes. It couldn't be right even though he enjoyed it, rolled his hips like he knew Levi had liked some time ago, felt his groin tighten when a careful hand wrapped around his dick.

Armin couldn't stop. He moaned at the thumb pressed firmly on the head of his cock, listened in horror as it warbled off into a wet choke, a cry. It seemed to spur on the boy beneath him, meeting each downward push with more and more frantic thrusts. It hurt, thank the Gods that it hurt, but Armin couldn't contain the bubble in his throat, the sob he had prayed would wait until they were finished, when he could cry alone and at least satisfied. But it was forced from him, his body too full to hold much else, and the one beneath him faltered, a whisper of surprise on his ragged inhale.

“Ah-shit, are you-”

“I'm fine,” shuddered heavy in the air. A hand tried to press itself to Armin's cheek, but he turned, hissing “don't fucking stop,” though he dare not look into those brown eyes. Instead, he pressed their lips together, sharing needy breaths, shifting his hips to find that spot, anything to keep their friction going. “I need it,” he mouthed, tasting his own tears on his lips, clenching around the heat inside him, coaxing a confused yet lusty moan to fall into his mouth. He couldn't breathe between held sobs.

The pace grew frantic, haphazard as Armin cried as silent as he could. Every wailing moan a strike to his heart - how much more embarrassing could this be? A few more disjointed thrusts and he felt it, hands on his hips clutching for release, the tell-tale shiver then splatter of warmth filling him up, a crackling cry of satisfaction. Armin almost didn't make it, his deprived lungs gasping for air while his body shook out his own orgasm. He listened to the panting so he didn't have to listen to his own hiccuping sobs.

The hand fingering through his hair didn't matter. The way his body collapsed atop the other, the angry static still in the pit of his stomach – yearning and yearning – the wet kiss to his forehead. It felt too sweet for legitimacy. Still, Armin didn't fight, simply let himself be handled around, twisted and coiled and pulled until they were apart, until he could curl up and sob into the mattress. It didn't last long however once the mattress sank and he heard the sounds of cloth on skin. Armin tilted his head from the wet sheets, hiding behind a layer of matted hair and elbows. He took a shuddering breath. “You're leaving?” Of course he was leaving, what else would he do anyway? Stay and chat now that he sobbed with his dick in his ass? He sighed to himself. “I mean...” But he didn't know what he meant.

The boy finished placing himself back in his pants before he turned, the sad look in his eyes yet another spike to Armin's heart, even though he was smiling. “Was I that bad?” he tried to laugh off, but silence answered him. “Ugh, Armin, I mean...” More silence.

“Colt, I-” Armin whimpered, burying his face back into his puddle on the bed. “It's not you,” he croaked, curling his body even tighter, knowing what a pathetic sight he had to be. “I don't...I don't want to talk about it.”

The oil lamp on the wall flickered, twisting the light into grotesque shadows until it calmed. He had to get up. He couldn't let him leave looking this ridiculous. The other didn't speak, the aura of confusion that seeped from his gaze motivating Armin to get dressed, act like everything was fine; nothing was ever wrong.

“You weren't bad.” Armin split a smile, stood up on his toes to give the boy a small kiss on the cheek. The usual shudder accompanied it, jostling all the way down his spine. “It was nice,” he continued, putting on another smile – could he really stack them? - waiting for the inevitable conversation that would come.

“Um.” Right, there it was. “Are you okay? Er – it's not like...a problem or...?”

Gods. Armin leaned back, shrugged his shoulders and said “whatever you want. Ha, don't dwell on it, everything's fine.”

Boots shuffling against floor. “Then...I'll see you later.”

“Right.” Did he even sound friendly? Hell, Armin couldn't hear himself anymore. Tears were stinging behind his eyes again, the threat of tomorrow circling his mind, knowing Levi hated him now, knowing he chose to risk his life again and he couldn't prepare himself mentally this time. Knowing his avoidance tactics barely worked. Armin saw Colt to the door, giving him a chuckle and a brush of his hip as he left, holding his breath when Colt leaned in and kissed him again. “Aw comeon,” he whined, giving Colt a shove. “Don't make me drag you back in here.” The words dried out his tongue. Still, he watched the shadow retreat down the halls, thought of Diederich – because why not think of everything that was upsetting all at once? - and leaned against the doorframe. The light filtered into the dark, barely far enough to illuminate a few feet in front of him, and he turned, hand on the door knob, wondering how sleep would settle over him tonight, but then he heard it.

“Armin?”

No, oh no no. “Eren?” The darkness shifted, light falling over his friend, those dark eyes. It was like magic, him appearing out of thin air, yet Armin couldn't talk to him now. Not now.

“Who was that?” Eren asked, stepping closer, his appeased expression turning sour as he approached. “Armin, what's-” He didn't finish. Armin stared, unable to speak lest he burst into tears again. Eren was in front of him now, right in his personal bubble. He could smell him, felt his body heat radiate off in waves. That questioning look. No, not now.

Say something. Say anything.

Armin swallowed. “We were uh, just -” a ragged breath, “talking.” But his voice hitched and his chest burned and all composure melted under Eren's gaze. He started to cry again. Thick heavy tears, his mouth too dry to hold any sound, just a hand over a choking throat and more of that damned stretching silence. He felt Eren panic, being pulled away from the door, the closeness, the sound of a click and a lock. And then Eren wrapped him up, drowned him within his heat. It was too late to be embarrassed. Whatever Eren said, Armin didn't hear; his head was fuzzy with a syrup of mixed emotions, the only response he could muster being more tears and clutching at Eren's shoulders like a child. Still, Eren's hands spread a sense of comfort, the way he hushed him as he cradled him, absorbing his shaking sobs, the hushed sound of his voice near his ear. Eren knew.

“Come on,” Armin heard, the words drifting right out of his reach. Eren pulled him, pushed and coddled him into his bed again, encasing him with his own body. “Everything's okay, okay?”

If only. If only. Still, Armin curled up into Eren's chest, listening to that strong heart beat of his. It pounded as if prideful, unlike his own that faltered and jumped. The constant beat soothed his tears but awoke something else. “I'm sorry,” he sniffled into his chest.

“Shhhh,” Eren hushed, rubbing circles into Armin's back. “Everything's okay.” He repeated. And repeated.

Armin knew better than to believe it – couldn't even if he had wanted to – and Eren's blind confidence stirred his stomach. He wanted to make him realize, to make Eren really know. By his fifth repeat Armin's sobs settled, so he shuffled into a better position to look Eren in the eyes. They were a light grey now, encircled with a dark ring. Eren smiled, but Armin looked away.

“Armin...”

“Please-”

“No listen.” Eren pulled him close again, pressing his chin atop his head. When had he grown so much? “I'm here for you, for whatever you want. Anything.” His hand ran through Armin's matted hair. His lips brushed his forehead. “I'm not leaving you.”

For a moment, Armin wondered – hesitated even. But by then he had already pressed his lips to Eren's, every doubting thought overwhelmed by the musky warmth of his best friend. “Please don't leave,” he whispered into the kiss, feeling Eren's arms tighten around him. “Don't ever.”

“Never,” Eren replied once released, a smile spreading across his face again. Gods, where did that come from?

Armin was ashamed, yes, but Eren was so willing. He kissed the smile away, slipping his hands under his cropped jacket to fist his shirt in his fingers. Eren molded around him, neither disturbed by the thunk of boots falling to the floor, the toss of a jacket, Armin's teeth on Eren's neck. How long had it been? How long had he needed this? Where Armin's resolve had stood was only impatience now, that feeling of damnation and ecstasy all at once. It would be a mistake, but Armin didn't care anymore. Their clothes didn't matter, nor Eren's hesitating hands unbuttoning a shirt possibly unclean. His hands running between thighs, Armin's hands tangled in the ankles of pants.

They piled their clothes on the floor.

Eren's skin burned just as much as he remembered, the feeling of his hands pulling at his hips almost too nostalgic. The way Eren's mouth moved across his body – little nips in perfect places, teeth dragging with heavy tongue – Armin shivered with it. Fingers in his mouth? Fine. Anything so long as their bodies kept moving, a caress of thigh here, a kissed-away moan there. It felt like before. Nothing had changed.

Armin sighed as Eren dug his teeth into his shoulder, that exact same bruise he had been ashamed of becoming his new prize. Eren's eyes asked, but Armin couldn't answer; he arched his back instead, sliding his dick along Eren's stomach in an open-mouthed cry. Eren covered his mouth with his own, taking Armin's silence and pulling sound from him. Heavy hands pushed his straining hips down again, the pressure points perfectly painful. Armin tried to press harder, the resistance exactly what he needed, Eren's tongue in his mouth the perfect plaything, saliva trailing down his chin.

He gasped when Eren pulled away, smoothing his tongue down his body, making sure to keep Armin's coiling body pressed into the bed. “Nng-fuck...” Eren chuckled.

“Now that's familiar,” he grinned, Armin catching the coyness in his eyes before he buried his face into the crook of Armin's thigh. Armin wanted to cry. Eren lapped at the skin so cleverly close to his aching heat, Armin unable to do more but thread his fingers in Eren's hair and whimper like some pathetic animal. But Eren didn't touch him – of course not – yet Armin still blubbered for it, his words broken and as wet as his eyes. He would have begged, he really would've, but it would have been well-rehearsed, and this didn't quite feel like those years ago.

“Go on,” Armin ushered as Eren stalled. Eren had always been selfish with this, but it was always worth it in the end. His chest heaved once Eren took his hands, entwining their fingers like a promise, Armin pulling his knees close as Eren leaned back.

He paused. Eren looked hesitant. “Are you sure?” The question was soft, as if he suddenly thought better of it.

Armin couldn't lose this. “I'm always sure with you, Eren,” he encouraged, even though his voice had dropped to a lusty moan. He just needed it this once, please this once.

A slow smile, Eren's eyes darkening against the light. Armin waited as they kissed again, the kiss more of Eren's attempt at distraction – Armin knew – than meaningful. He always tried so hard to not make it hurt. At least that would never change. “Breathe,” Eren cooed, and Armin melted away.

Where had the world gone? They were back in the barracks, exhausted and sweaty from doing laps late into the night, though they still had the energy for one last kiss. For one last.... Armin had been on his knees, pants still gathered around them, both too impatient. Too reckless. Eren's fingers stretched him wide, just like he had shown him, bringing Armin to silence himself in his pillow. They had tried to be quiet, really.

“Eren,” Armin hushed, the desire dripping from his voice. He had been so young then, hadn't he? “Please hurry up!”

“Okay okay sorry,” Eren pulled out – literally – slick fingers grasping the mounds of his backside. Armin dropped his head into the pillow again, hands clenching folds and folds of sheets. He waited, the anticipation sure to make him cum if Eren didn't, listening – feeling – Eren reposition himself and then him, lowering the angle of his hips that required Armin to spread his legs wider. Embarrassment flushed through him, and then Eren leaned over, panting into his trembling shoulder. “Armin, breathe.”

He could have been there instead of here, back those years ago instead of witnessing the wreck he had become. Eren pushed in slow, agonizingly slow, waiting, watching for something Armin knew not to give him: pain. Armin's body reacted just the same, the electric spark first sped up his spine, and then the overwhelming feeling of heat. The way his body stretched and moved to accommodate him, the teeth-grinding yearn to resist, the final burst of something – and Armin still didn't know what – that traveled up and lodged itself in his lungs trying to choke him. It didn't matter how many times Eren told him to breathe, because Armin never could. The same pitched, strained whine left his mouth. Eren's hands rubbed his thighs in the same comforting pattern. His legs still shook. His voice was hoarse. “Eren, please.”

Armin's tingling fingertips lassoed Eren's shoulders, Eren's hands pulling his hips into his body felt hot and tight. Armin lifted his hips, watched Eren bite his lip and falter before he leaned over him again, winding his hands down to Armin's knees. Armin caught the smile there, could read all the thoughts that passed through Eren's head simply by looking at his eyes. He caught his gaze, nodded, his body going limp as Eren forced his knees back and buried himself inside.

The heavy thump-thumping of a heart. Blood rushing through ears. Burning lungs with a wet, wet mouth. Fingernails and kneecaps, clenched toes and a name floating in the air. Armin arched his back, pulled at Eren's straining shoulders, tossing his head as he was swept away. A hot breath blew past his ear, Eren's eyes hovering over him – sparkling - coming down to devour his mouth again, Armin's hips being kept still by knowing hands. But soon Armin tilted out of the kiss – Eren's mouth proceeding right to his outstretched neck – almost hyperventilating as their bodies moved together. Dance-like, Eren knew which way to turn, how to keep their fingers entwined, how to pull out the most sensual sounds from him. Armin turned his hooded eyes back to Eren. “Are you...?” he gasped between breathless pants, his shoulders jolting back when Eren gave a gut-wrenching thrust.

“Yeah,” spilled from Eren's mouth, a lopsided smile seeming to be his attempt at an apology. Like he needed to. Armin felt it, could practically smell Eren's coming orgasm, the heat of his body sweltering inside and out; Armin knew the routine. It had never mattered how many times they did it, what position, what pace, even what emotion either of them were feeling; Eren always, always, came too fast and too furious. He fell apart every time, and it was what Armin waited for, even though he had become less and less sensitive to it. But the heat, Gods the heat, it was so satisfying.

Eren let out a groan, something mixed between a growl and a wail, low in his throat. It rang in Armin's head, another flood of nostalgia – the pillows, the quiet barracks, the almost-constant threat of being caught – and then thunder in his bones. Eren choked, Armin keening as Eren's heat burst inside him, a spiraling spread of warmth that overtook every nerve in his groin, through his stomach, fanning up into his chest. And then the anxiety, the stinging encircling his hips – he was close, he was so close – unable to topple into his own release despite the uncontrollable buck of his hips.

“Shit,” cracked Armin's needy lips. “Shit shit shit,” he mewled at the back of his throat, back arching too sharp to help, but the new angle of Eren's dick was just....

“I got it.” Bleary eyed, Armin reached out a trembling hand. Eren grasped it, chuckled, didn't respond to Armin's whines as he wrapped his free hand around his flushed cock. “Just hold on,” Eren hushed.

Armin shook his head, lost in his desperation. His entire body sparked and burned, Eren's grasp of his hand no better than a bandaid on a stab wound until he felt the empty space Eren had left in him, saw his head dip, moaned out a sob. His wet mouth quenched the heat, a shudder through his thighs, Eren putting his tongue to work. He cared - had always cared - because he knew Armin's body, knew its limits and its preferences and exactly how to finish Armin off into a puddle of flesh. And Armin moaned his name, rolled his hips in little circles because shit, the way Eren left his tongue rest on the head of his cock infuriated him in the best ways. Then Eren hummed. Armin felt his body snap, couldn't focus on anything but that moist heat that seemed to swallow him whole. Was he crying again? Were those sobs of impatience or regret? Why did the smell of sex – their sex – carve itself into him so badly? Why hadn't this happened sooner? Why had they stopped again?

Inhale. Hold it. Explode. Armin was blinded, deafened too when he came like he hadn't in years, reveling in the way Eren paused, swallowed, and seemed ready to suck the rest out of him. And the inevitable collapse, the exhaustion in every cell, still panting, still electric, still wanting. “Eren,” he murmured. And Eren came, pulling Armin into him like he knew he wanted it, Armin nestling his cheek into the crook of his shoulder, kissed it. “I love the way you smell,” he said after a moment, glad he could hide behind his hair. “I like how we smell.”

Eren didn't reply.

More silence, then, “thank you,” Armin whispered.

Eren shifted, wrapping his arm around Armin's waist. “For what?”

“For not asking.” Silence again.

“Armin?” Eren sounded hurt.

“Hm?”

Again Eren seemed to hesitate. Armin listened to their hearts slowly begin to match pace, coming down slowly. “Nevermind.”


End file.
